Memories of Falling Snow
by R2-M0
Summary: BOOK 2: Anna and Elsa have had a difficult childhood, but they are not the only ones in Arendelle Castle who would like to forget pieces of their past. As the royal family struggles to cope with this difficult situation, painful memories and secrets never before shared slowly come to light. Friendships will be tested and old scars laid bare as the saga continues.
1. Prologue (The Sky's Awake)

"The King brought his wife and her twelve older brothers home to the castle. A messenger was quickly dispatched to deliver the good news to the Queen's faraway mother that her twelve sons were fully restored and that her daughter, too, was alive and well. Joy and gladness washed over the whole kingdom because the wicked witch was gone, and because the lovely Queen had set free her twelve brothers.

"The End."

Anna leaned her head back against the door and gazed thoughtfully off into space. There were no other sounds to disturb her contemplation. The hallway was dim and quiet, as it nearly always was at this time of the evening. In fact, the silence was actually all too familiar. She would have given almost anything to hear an unexpected noise from the room behind her. That hadn't happened in far too long.

At last, the young princess spoke.

"You know, I think that might be one of my favorite stories Mr. Asbjørnsen has sent so far. I'll have to tell Prof. Engelstad to let him know, and to thank him yet again for continuing to send all these wonderful tales. I mean, who would have guessed, right? At this rate, I could end up being almost as big of a reader as you! Well, okay, probably not. But still, if it wasn't for his stories..."

She cut off whatever she'd been about to say when she heard the sound of quiet footfalls approaching up the adjoining hallway. With a sigh, she tidied up the sheets of paper upon which the story had been written and was already getting to her feet when the queen turned the corner.

"Anna..."

"I know, Mother," Anna said. "Just a second, okay?"

She turned back to face the door and spoke once more, regret obvious in her voice. "Sorry. I guess I lost track of time again. We'll just have to pick up where we left off tomorrow, alright? I already have our next story picked out too. I hope you'll like it. It's quite a bit longer than tonight's was, so I'll try to be sure to get here early. I hate having to make you wait to find out how things end. I don't imagine you like that very much either.

"Anyway, sleep well tonight. I hope you have beautiful dreams. Maybe you'll be like the princess in the story and dream of a little hut in the woods where you'll find... you know... whatever it is you're... um... looking for."

Anna winced a little at the awkward turn that last sentence had taken. Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead lightly against the cool wood. That helped her feel just a little bit more collected, probably because it also made her feel just that much closer to her unseen sister. With that thought in mind, she lifted her free hand and pressed it flat against the brightly painted surface as well.

"I love you, Elsa. Good night."

Turning, she walked over to where her mother waited patiently. The queen laid her hand on her daughter's shoulder, and the two began walking toward Anna's room on the other side of the palace.

This had become an almost nightly routine for both of them lately, so Anna was grateful that her mother had not yet complained about having to come fetch her from Elsa's door night after night. Truth be told, Anna didn't really lose track of time each evening. Really, she just kept pushing it as long as she could, because it was the closest she was able to get to Elsa these days.

Of course, she could and often did visit her sister's door at other times too. When she did, she would usually talk about things that were going on in the castle and the kingdom and in her own all-too-uneventful life. That was part of the problem, however. Most days, there simply wasn't that much interesting for her to tell.

They reached the younger princess's bedroom, and her mother waited while Anna changed into her nightclothes and got into bed. Then Queen Ellinor kissed her daughter's forehead, tucked the blankets snugly up under her chin, and bade her goodnight.

"I love you too, Mother. Good night." Anna watched her mother stop in the doorway to give a warm smile and small wave before she stepped out into the hall and drew the door closed behind her.

Nearly two years ago, Anna had complained to her mother that she had grown too old to need tucking in. Now however, even though she was ten years old, she welcomed that little gesture every night. It was a comforting act of kindness that she appreciated all the more after she'd been reminded how easily the ones you love could suddenly disappear from your life... again.

It was just one of many things that had changed unexpectedly over the years. When she was younger, for instance, she'd rarely had any problem finding things to talk about when she'd visited outside her sister's door. Everything had somehow seemed more exciting and interesting back then, and she'd been eager to tell Elsa all about every little detail. That had been especially true when, a few months before her seventh birthday, she had made a new friend.

Marie was the daughter of a veteran harbor master. Her father's skill at organizing ports across Europe had brought him to the attention of Anna's own father, King Agdar. He had invited the entire family to the palace to try to convince Anton to take on the job of improving the efficiency of Arendelle's docks.

Anna, who had been without a companion her own age ever since the castle gates had been shut and her sister had gone into hiding, had eagerly latched onto Marie as a new playmate. And at first, that was really all she had been. Even so, it had been clear enough to the king and queen how much happier Anna had become now that she was no longer quite so alone. So her father had soon made an exception to the standing rule about the closed castle gates, and Marie had been free to come and go as she pleased.

As the months had passed, the two young girls had only continued to grow closer. Still, Anna didn't realize how dear a friend she had truly made until one afternoon when she had been sitting outside her sister's door and recounting the events of a day gone badly wrong. Then she had looked up to find Elsa standing in the hallway, staring at her in shock. Feeling betrayed that her sister had been secretly leaving her room without telling her, and that she'd been pouring her heart out to an empty room, Anna had said some truly hurtful things before she'd run off in tears.

It was Marie who had helped reconcile the two sisters. Without her intervention, Anna didn't know how long those bitter feelings would have been allowed to wear away at their already strained relationship. From that point forward, Anna had determined to become as good a friend to Marie as she had been to her.

That was why Anna had been absolutely devastated when an accident down by the docks had shattered both of Marie's legs. She and her family had been forced to leave Arendelle and return to France, to seek the assistance of a skilled surgeon who specialized in such injuries. Having rediscovered friendship only to have it torn away from her once again, Anna had been nearly inconsolable.

Even in her absence, however, Marie had still managed to find a way to bridge the divide between Arendelle's two princesses. Unable to bear her sister's suffering, Elsa had actually reached out to comfort Anna when no one else could. Then slowly, over the course of that year, the two estranged girls had begun to reconnect again. Even though Elsa continued to remain mostly hidden in her room, she at least continued to talk to Anna, something that her younger sibling had almost given up hope of ever hearing again. It had been like a dream come true.

Then, she had woken up.

On Anna's ninth birthday, Elsa had inexplicably fallen silent once again. Their parents had seemingly been at a loss to explain to Anna what had triggered this sudden setback. So she had begged Elsa to speak to her again, even a single word to let her know that she was still listening. The only response she had ever received, however, had been the sound of plaintive tears.

Still, Anna refused to give up on her sister. Three times now in her short life, she'd had to watch one of her best friends vanish beyond her reach. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, she remained determined to pull Elsa back from whatever darkness had swallowed her. Her sister had been there for her when she'd been at her lowest ebb. Anna knew she could do no less.

And so, when her regular recounting of each day's events had begun to sound boring and deathly dull even to her own ears, Anna had eventually come up with the idea of reading stories instead. She'd actually done it once before, back when Elsa had still been talking to her. Her sister had seemed to enjoy it so very much back then that now, Anna tried to find a new story to read every single evening.

Every so often, her tutor (Prof. Engelstad) would provide her with tales that an old friend from his university days would forward his way. The rest of the time, Anna scoured the shelves of the castle library, sometimes with help from her mother. The queen had even begun ordering new volumes just for this purpose. From things her parents said, Anna remained convinced that Elsa did indeed look forward to what her father had taken to calling their nightly "bedtime stories," even if she refused to tell Anna as much herself. So the younger princess doggedly persisted in their telling.

Still, there were nights when the pernicious silence simply became too much. On those nights, despite her best efforts to remain hopeful and optimistic, the young princess couldn't help but cry herself to sleep.

Fortunately, tonight was not such a night. It was, however, one of those evenings when she found herself wide awake – a thousand miles away from the slightest hint of drowsiness. Those weren't uncommon either, especially when she found herself thinking about her situation just a little too much. But there was more to it tonight than just that, she realized. A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention to the tall triangular window that overlooked the castle gardens below.

Flipping the covers off to one side, Anna slipped out of bed and crossed to the padded bench beneath the glass. There, she gazed up at the shimmering green and rose colored streamers that lit up the night sky.

"The sky's awake," she whispered softly to herself. "So I'm awake."

She wished with all her heart that she had someone with whom she could share her sleepless vigil.

• • •

Elsa watched the shifting patterns of light as they danced tirelessly across the dark firmament. Tireless also described her on this lonely night. Try as she might, sleep stubbornly eluded her. Finally, she had simply given in to her restlessness. Dragging a blanket and a pillow off her bed, she had instead laid herself down on the cushions beneath the window, made herself as comfortable as she could, then raised her eyes to the heavens and attempted to distract herself with the mesmerizing beauty of the aurora.

So far, she'd been only partially successful.

Despite her best efforts to clear her mind and allow sleep to come to her, her thoughts kept returning to "The Twelve Wild Ducks," the story that Anna had read earlier that evening. She could certainly understand why Anna had enjoyed it so much. Personally, however, the parallels with her own life made Elsa a little more uncomfortable than she cared to admit.

In the tale, a young princess discovered that she had only been born because her mother made a deal with a witch. Like all such deals in these folktales, the price the queen had been forced to pay had been unexpectedly high. In return for finally being gifted with a daughter, she'd had to watch as her twelve sons (come to greet her back from her travels) had then magically transformed into ducks and flown off into the sky before her very eyes.

Even though she had not yet even been born at the time, the princess still felt horribly guilty about the curse. So she set off on a journey to find her missing brothers, despite having no idea where they might have gone. After searching for three years, she finally found them in a tiny hut hidden deep in a forest. Only within the hut each night did they appear human again, and there they told her of the only way that their curse could be broken.

Their sister would have to weave each of them a shirt of thistledown, all by herself with no help from anyone else. And from the moment she set herself to this task, she must neither talk nor laugh nor weep until her labor was completed.

Elsa knew all too much about curses beyond her control, guilt at the suffering of innocent siblings, and penances paid in silence.

There had been a time two years ago when she had allowed herself to believe that there just might be another way to redeem herself. She'd become convinced that, if she could only learn to control her magic – not just hold it in, but truly master its every facet and idiosyncrasy – then perhaps she would no longer need to fear it. Maybe then, she would finally be able to leave her room, confident in her ability to properly direct her powers away from all those around her.

So she had set out to learn all that she could about how her abilities worked. It had been a struggle, for she'd had no teacher and no guide. All she could do was experiment and, through trial and error, slowly map out the fine workings of her magic. Despite a few setbacks, however, it had all seemed to be going so well.

During that time, she had also allowed herself to reach out to her sister once again. Anna had been suffering so deeply at the loss of her friend Marie that Elsa could simply hold her silence no longer. In fact, Elsa's desire to truly and completely comfort her sister was what had finally pushed her to take the chance on exploring her powers.

That year had been glorious. She had actually felt like Anna's big sister again for the first time in years. And as she learned to master the mysteries of ice and snow, her confidence had grown steadily as well. She'd been certain that her grand plan was going to work. In fact, she'd even been able to work up enough courage that, on her eleventh birthday, she'd actually ventured out of her room to join her family for a simple, intimate little celebration.

In hindsight, her desperate desire to succeed at her self-appointed mission had blinded her to the signs of its impending failure. On several occasions, her powers had behaved in peculiar and inexplicable ways – including on the morning of her birthday when ice had suddenly begun to form in her water glass, even though she had been wearing her gloves at the time.

Elsa looked at her hands now, lying lightly upon her chest atop the blanket. They were still covered with supple white fabric, but the gloves she now wore extended well beyond her wrist and up onto her forearm. Her father had presented the new style to her a few weeks after Anna's ninth birthday – the day on which Elsa had finally paid for her presumption.

All the strange signs that she had chosen to ignore or explain away had actually all been symptoms of a single fundamental reality. Elsa's magic had been steadily growing stronger. Even worse, her constant practice had only accelerated the process until, at last, her power had finally exceeded her ability to contain it. When that had happened, she'd needed all of her willpower to just barely rein it in, gloves or no.

Eventually, with time and the help of these new gloves, she'd been able to strengthen her defenses enough to prevent ice from randomly exploding out of her at the slightest provocation. Even now though, she remained constantly aware of the fact that she was having to hold her powers in check. An entire year had passed, and yet she dared not take the gloves off for more than a few seconds at a time. Anything she touched with her bare hands quickly became encrusted with a thick layer of hoarfrost.

In the end, it had all left Elsa more isolated than she'd ever been since she had first retreated inside her room. No matter how much she longed for it, she could not allow herself the indulgence of her parents' comforting touch. She was afraid of what might happen if she allowed herself to drop her guard, to relax her constant vigil in the warmth of their embrace. She couldn't let her magic hurt those she loved. Not again.

That was also why she had attempted to cut off her ties to her sister, why she once again refused to speak to her. She'd hoped that Anna would eventually just give up and go away, for her own safety. This was, of course, another case of self-delusion on her part. Her sister had inherited a stubborn streak from both of their parents, and she remained absolutely determined not to give up on Elsa.

So Anna came to the door, night after night, and read stories to her big sister. And Elsa listened. She cursed herself for not having the strength to properly push Anna away. In this one thing, however, she knew herself and her limitations only too well. Despite everything, she anxiously looked forward to Anna's visits each evening. No matter how guilty it made her feel, she still knew that it was pointless to try and fight it.

Elsa turned back to the auroral light show, rolling onto her side and pressing her forehead against the glass. It was cold outside, and she could feel the chill stealing through the window panes. It didn't bother her, though. In fact, she'd found that she didn't mind the cold much at all anymore. She'd brought the blanket with her tonight not for the warmth it provided, but more for the faint illusion of security it carried with it. Perhaps it was a childish affectation. Then again, Elsa's childhood had, in many ways, been cut short on the day of Anna's accident. Among all the many things in her life that brought her feelings of guilt and inadequacy, this tiny bit of naive immaturity didn't even register.

The same held true for the one other thing that she had brought with her to the window box, and which she had carefully positioned so as to give it a clear view of the spectacular night sky. She reached out to it now, running a single finger lovingly along the familiar soft curves. Then she picked it up ever so gently. With tender care, she brought it up and placed it on the pillow beside her head, facing it outward and upward towards the coruscating ribbons that skated across the dark roof of night.

"The sky's awake, Anna," she whispered to the little red-haired doll. "I'm awake. And you have no idea how much I wish that we could play."

• • •

Both of Arendelle's princesses remained awake for a very long time that night. They sat beneath their windows, losing themselves in the radiant beauty outside. They thought about the inexplicable twists of fate that had brought them through all the years to this one singular night, losing themselves in their own memories. The two blended together in a kaleidoscope of images and emotions, so that they soon lost all track of time.

Mostly, however, Elsa and Anna both simply felt lost.

It was near midnight before they were both finally able to lose themselves in the blissful forgetfulness of sleep.

* * *

**A/N: The insecure part of me (an embarrassingly large part, I'm afraid) feels like I should apologize for this chapter. First, for making my readers wait while I pieced together two transitional chapters to handle this multi-volume split. Second, for spending so much of this particular chapter recapping the major events of _Echoes_, in a probably futile attempt to allow new readers to come on board now without necessarily having to read the previous book. And third, for taking this opportunity to quietly skip the narrative ahead a year, because I'm simply not confident in my ability to fill another decade of story without a cheat or two like this along the way.**

**If you found any of those things to be unduly annoying, I am indeed sorry. I expect the next chapter will bring us back to normal again. In the meantime, I hope you will simply think of this like one of those signs you see at the entrance to a store that's currently being remodeled. "Please pardon my dust. I'm working to make a better story for you."**


	2. The Wounds of the Past

For the first few weeks after Elsa's powers had passed some unforeseen tipping point, King Agdar and Queen Ellinor had done their best to be sure that one of them had remained with her nearly every waking moment of the day. The king had coordinated with Kai (the palace steward and his de facto personal assistant) to clear his schedule as much they possibly could, in order that he might spend more time with his troubled daughter.

Unfortunately, there had been precious little that either of them had been able to do for Elsa while she struggled to figure out how to bring her abilities in check once again. Sudden and unpredictable bursts of ice had happened all too often, which only served to undermine her confidence and make it that much harder for her to maintain control. The music box they had given Elsa on her eleventh birthday seemed to help calm her some, but it was not enough on its own to solve the problem.

As he'd racked his brain for some way to help his daughter, Agdar had eventually remembered words that Pabbie, the gentle sage of the troll clan, had spoken to him. Many months earlier, at another time when he and his wife had been feeling completely powerless in the face of Elsa's burden, the king had returned to the troll's mountain home to seek the elder's wisdom. When asked if there might not be some charm that could help suppress the magic, Pabbie had eventually conceded that, "Since the mind plays such a critical role in the channeling of magical power, then if someone _believed_ that such a thing existed, there's a chance it could actually work."

Clearly, this had to be the mechanism by which Elsa's gloves had helped her in the first place. If they were no longer sufficient to the task, however, then perhaps she simply needed something that would restore her faith in them. This had eventually led Agdar to present her with a new pair of gloves that were longer than her previous ones, hoping that the small bit of extra fabric might be enough to make her believe in them once again.

She had insisted that he go out into the hallway while she tried them on, for fear of what might happen during the brief interval when her hands were left completely bare. Agdar had tried not to hold his breath while he waited impatiently. After a minute, Elsa had finally called him back into her room. Then, of course, the waiting began anew. Only with time would they be able to tell if anything had really changed.

In the end, it appeared that the gloves had been enough, but only just. They didn't completely put a stop to Elsa's magical spasms, but the incidents did become less frequent and considerably less severe. That seemed to eventually give the princess enough confidence that, after another week or two, she'd finally been able to rein in even those as well.

The result was that now, a year later, the diameter of the comfort zone that Elsa seemed to need to maintain around herself had diminished somewhat. Even so, however, she still would not let her parents touch her.

That pained Agdar perhaps more than anything else. Finding the right words to comfort his daughters had never been one of his strengths. Although necessity had forced him to improve in this regard, his first and best instinct when he saw Elsa in pain was to reach out to her, to hold her, to try to make her feel safe and protected. With that impulse now blocked, it felt like it was harder than ever to put those same sentiments into words.

Nevertheless, he felt the need to find some way to let Elsa know that he was there for her. And so, after talking things over with Ellinor, they had both agreed that it was time for him to begin to take on a larger role in their daughter's education.

During the first year or two of Elsa's isolation, he had mostly ceded that responsibility to the queen. That time spent with her eldest daughter had meant so much to her in light of the sudden distance that had grown between them, and Agdar had not wanted to disrupt that. Over time, Elsa had slowly opened up again, but by then the pattern of tutelage had become so well established that they'd never bothered to reconsider the arrangement.

Hindsight, of course, always sheds a stark light on the mistakes of the past, and Agdar now realized that this had been one of many that he had made with his daughters. Therefore, at least once or twice a week as his schedule permitted, he would now come up to her room to deliver her lessons for the day. He had hoped that this might help him reconnect with Elsa in much the same way it had worked for his wife just a few years earlier.

So far, however, the results had been subtly disheartening.

Elsa was always courteous and polite during their lessons, and she would even manage a smile from time to time. In its own way, however, this was even worse than when she had retreated into her sullen silences during much of her first year of seclusion. At least then, he had known that there was still some level of connection there, enough that she could let him see that she was hurting. This, however, felt like the sort of facade one would put on when dealing with a stranger who had cornered you into a conversation from which you simply could not extricate yourself.

It had taken him many months to realize that it wasn't his presence alone that triggered this response. When he would come by just to visit, Elsa somehow managed to seem at least a little less guarded than she did during lessons. He had puzzled over this for days before he finally mentioned it to Ellinor. The look she gave him in response would have been recognized by husbands the world over. Roughly translated, it said: You men really don't have a clue how anything important works, do you?

"I've told you before, Agdar," she explained with weary patience. "Elsa still finds you to be rather intimidating."

"I'm not trying to be!" he said in a burst of exasperation. "I only want to help her. I want to let her know that I love her and support her. That I'm there for her. I always keep my calm, I never raise my voice. I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

The queen looked at him closely then before she spoke again. "You're her father," she'd said quietly, "and she does love you. Beyond that, however, you are her king. Elsa knows that someday, she will be expected to take your place on the throne. That would be an unnerving prospect even under the best of circumstances, but given this situation, I'm certain that it absolutely terrifies her.

"She knows that so much is expected of her. I think that, now that you're also acting as her teacher, she feels those expectations more strongly than ever. She doesn't want to disappoint you. She wants you to be proud of her. She just wants to prove to you, and to herself, that she will be worthy of the crown when the time comes.

"But when she still can't even bring herself to come out of her room..."

Ellinor fell silent then. The rest of the sentiment did not really need to be said aloud, but that wasn't what had stopped her tongue. As she'd been speaking, the strangest look had come across her husband's face. It still lingered there now: a mixture of sadness, compassion, understanding, and... fear?

Agdar leaned forward then and buried his face in his hands. "I am such a fool," he berated himself darkly. "You married a blind man, Ellinor, and Arendelle has a hypocrite for a King. How could I not have seen it all this time? And after I swore to myself, swore that I would not make the same mistakes that..."

He inhaled sharply and shook his head. Straightening a little, he scrubbed at his forehead with the heels of his hands before letting them fall heavily into his lap. The queen looked at him then, and she thought he suddenly appeared more tired than she had ever before seen him. He seemed to have aged years right before her eyes.

"Agdar, what is it?"

His eyes did not rise to meet hers. "I have to fix this," he said, but Ellinor wasn't entirely sure that he was responding to her question... or even addressing her at all. "I have to make this right. This can not happen again. I won't allow it. I should never have let it get this far in the first place, but I didn't realize. I didn't want to let myself see it."

Finally, he looked at his wife. She involuntarily gasped and recoiled a few inches, for his eyes were so haunted by whatever demons were preying on his soul. Unfortunately, he apparently took her response as confirmation of the fear that was gnawing at him, for he hung his head once more.

Ellinor rose from her seat then and crossed the distance between them in a single stride. Dropping to her knees in front of his chair, she clasped his uncharacteristically limp hands in her own. "Agdar, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... It isn't that bad, really. Everything is all right."

"No," he replied, "it's not. It hasn't been right for a very long time. But I will make it right, somehow. I swear, with you as my witness, that I will. I have to, for my own sake as much as for Elsa's."

He drew another deep breath, and at last pulled himself fully upright once again. The pain still lingered in the lines of his face, but there was a light beginning to burn in his eyes now. His features slowly set themselves into a countenance of grim determination. He squeezed her hands tightly before finally returning her direct regard.

In a voice as solid as the foundations of the earth, he issued a solemn vow.

"I will not become that man."

• • •

Elsa straightened her books and papers upon her desk. There was really no need to do so, but she was perfectly aware of what this really was. She was simply stalling, trying to delay the inevitable for a few extra seconds. Only when she could not maintain the pretense any longer did she finally lower her hands to her lap. Then she turned and, with a carefully composed expression of perfect politeness, she spoke.

"What subject are we covering today, Father?"

The king did not respond right away, but merely continued to pointedly contemplate his daughter. For a while, she simply returned his gaze with reasonably well feigned expectancy. However, after nearly a minute had slipped by with no sign of any answer to her question, Elsa's guise of courteous interest eventually began to falter. Her father's intense and unwavering attention was becoming increasingly disconcerting.

She glanced over at her books again. Her hands twitched as she restrained them from yet another spate of pointless reorganization. She looked down at them then as they lay in her lap, as if giving them a more direct order would help to keep them still. As a compromise, she allowed one of them to pick a spot of lint off her dress – a spot that may or may not have actually been there. At last, running out of convenient distractions, she resignedly returned her eyes to her father's face, only to see that his steady expression had not changed in the slightest.

Finally deciding that he must be waiting for something more from her, she opened her mouth to speak.

"Do you want to be Queen, Elsa?"

The question struck her as so completely absurd, she was certain that she'd misheard it. "Beg your pardon?"

Her father leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands loosely together. "I know it's not a question often asked of the heir to the throne – well, not sincerely at any rate. But I think it's one that ought to be put forth more often. Do you want to be Queen?"

Elsa just blinked at him, still struggling to come to grips with the bewildering situation she suddenly found herself in. "Of... of course, Father."

"Well, that's a relief," Agdar said as he sat back in his chair. Elsa had almost let herself relax when he completed his thought. "I _can _still sometimes tell when you're not being honest with me."

She started to protest, but the king held up his hand for silence. "Elsa, I don't want you to tell me what you think I want to hear. I already knew that answer before I asked the question. We need to have this conversation, but it will do neither of us any good if we aren't honest with each other. I promise, I won't be angry or upset or disappointed, no matter what answer you give, as long as it's the truth."

The princess stared at her father as the question darted this way and that through her brain, hoping it might accidentally bump into a suitable answer. It wasn't that the notion had never occurred to her before. She'd simply never allowed herself to explore such frivolous what-ifs all that seriously or for very long. That she would one day be Queen seemed as much an absolute fact to her as the rising of the sun each and every morning.

"It isn't about what I want," she replied uncertainly.

"But what if it was?" her father persisted. His face was somber and serious, but not unkind. "There are many who dream of being King, and who's to say that some of them might not do a better job at it than I have? Heaven only knows all the mistakes I've made. But what is it that you want, Elsa?"

Elsa felt her pulse starting to quicken. Her father's tenacious pursuit of this issue was unnerving her. Unfortunately, she knew all too well what could happen if she allowed herself to become too upset. She could already feel the first stirrings of her power deep within her, like a sleeping beast that has caught a whiff of timid prey scurrying across the entrance to its den.

Elsa's hand darted out to the white lacquered box that perched upon her desk. She kept it near her most of the time now, for situations just like this. She also kept it wound and ready, so that all she had to do was flip open the lid.

The music picked up in the middle of the tune, with sprightly staccato notes that always evoked images in her mind of a spring rain upon a slow moving stream. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the delicate chimes of the music box to become the preeminent sensation in her mind. In a matter of seconds, her heartbeat began to slow again and her breathing returned to normal. The restless beast within her stilled itself and returned to its uneasy slumber.

It was then that she realized that this was also the answer to her father's question.

"It isn't about what I want," she repeated sadly, her eyes still closed, "because I simply don't see how I can ever be Queen."

The brightly dancing melody was the only sound in the room for a while then. Apparently, her father was allowing her the chance to calm herself, because he did not speak again until the springs and the music finally wound down.

"Elsa," he then said softly, "please look at me."

The princess opened her eyes at last and meekly did as she'd been instructed. She almost immediately wanted to look away, however, because the empathy and compassion on his face embarrassed her. She did not feel worthy of such sympathy.

"Thank you," he said, "for your honesty. Trust me, I know just how hard it can be to admit to your own fears."

Elsa caught a glimpse of something dark flicker behind her father's eyes then. The question came out of her before she had time to consider its potential impertinence.

"What are you afraid of, Papa?"

One corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a little half smile. "Oh, so many things," he admitted. "I'm afraid for you and Anna. I'm afraid that someday I'll make one mistake too many and I won't be able to repair the damage. I'm afraid that, as King of Arendelle, I've failed to do right by our people. I'm afraid that I'm not as good of a man as I've led myself to believe I am."

Elsa was momentarily shocked by her father's sudden candor. "Of course you're a good man," she finally managed to reply. "And a great king. Who could possibly say otherwise?"

"Oh, I can think of one or two people," he replied sardonically. "No one is above reproach, Elsa. No one is perfect. We've all done things that have hurt others. We may not have meant to. We may not even have realized we were doing it. But the wounds we leave behind can linger for a long time thereafter, and you never know how they might heal. Sometimes, they can actually make a person stronger, more resilient and understanding. Other times, they can fester and grow and become something very ugly.

"When you wear the crown, you have the power to do both great good and great harm. Mistakes that the average man might shrug off by the next day can come back to haunt you and your people for years to come. The worst part is that you may not even realize that the troubles besetting you today are actually the result of that error in judgment you made so very long ago.

"Then again, being a parent is much the same. The only difference is that the people you affect mean so much more to you, and your actions will have a far deeper impact, both for good and for ill."

"But that's the problem!" Elsa burst out, her tightly maintained reserve finally starting to break. "Look at me! Look at what I'm capable of! I can't even control the power that I already have. How can I possibly be expected to wield the kind of power you're talking about."

"They are two different things, Elsa."

"Are they? Look at how I hurt Anna, and not just with my magic. I don't know how to control any of this. All I know is that, one way or another, my power only ever leads to pain."

"That's not true," Agdar insisted. "Remember back when you and Anna were younger. Think about how much joy the two of you shared through your magic."

"But don't you see?" she replied, her voice rising in pitch, in pace with her anxiety. "You and I can remember that, but Anna can't! Those memories were stolen from her. She's lost so much because of me, and what have I been able to give her back in return?"

"You gave her comfort when Marie left," her father pointed out. "When none of the rest of us could get through to her, you reached out and you helped her heal. That's no small gift, Elsa. And you gave her back Midsummer's Eve again, after her mother and I had foolishly decided it was no longer worth celebrating.

"You have a great heart, full of love and kindness. It's part of the reason why you hurt so much, because you feel others' pain so deeply. Believe me when I tell you that there have been many wise and powerful kings who would have been far greater rulers if only they'd possessed a little more of your humanity."

"There are some days," Elsa replied, and her tone had suddenly fallen even below its normal register to a husky rasp in the back of her throat, "when I don't even feel human. No normal human should be able to do the things I can do. There's another word that better describes what I am.

"I'm a monster."

Elsa's confession hit Agdar so hard that it seemed as if his entire world simply blacked out for a moment. It felt like a steel band had suddenly wrapped itself around his chest, constricting his lungs and threatening to shatter his ribcage. More than ever, the urge to reach out to his daughter engulfed him, nearly overwhelming his prudence.

In the end, he restrained himself, but he did two other things instead. First, he reached across the desk to the music box, picked it up, wound it, then set it back down to let it play once again.

Second, he stood up and carried his chair around the desk. There, he set it down just within the distance that Elsa had established as her current comfort boundary. As he sat again, she visibly withdrew, pulling herself tightly against the chair back. She could not have moved further away from him without moving her chair, and he hadn't given her enough room to do that without standing up and coming even closer to him than she was already.

The king pinned her with his gaze, holding her attention through sheer force of will, refusing to let her look away. He held that position silently for a very long time. At last, either because she had finally grown used to his proximity or because her muscles simply could not remain so tense for so long, Elsa's tight posture relaxed, just a little. Only then did Agdar finally speak.

"I've decided on the subject for today's lesson," he said. "I think we shall cover a little history.

"Let me tell you about a true monster on the throne of Arendelle."

**A/N: First things first: I have the most incredible readers in the world! Thank you for your outpouring of support after the last two chapters. I was nervous about how the Book Two split would be received, but you've all been amazing. I felt like I was floating a few inches off the ground for several days afterward.**

**Second, isn't it strange the chapters that can give you the most trouble? I never would have guessed I'd struggle so much to get the tone of this one just right, but it wasn't easy. Of course, it hasn't helped that work's been rather stressful lately, which has left me with a decided lack of ambition in the evenings this week. Thank goodness for weekends, eh?**


	3. Every New Beginning…

Throughout Arendelle Castle, lamps flickered with a warm amber glow. Upon the many hearths, fires crackled and popped in defiance of the chill drafts that continuously tried to sneak through the smallest chinks in the walls. Though the night outside was dark as pitch, within the palace, light held dominion, banishing the shadows to only the deepest recesses and corners. Within the palace, no one slept that night.

Then again, no one smiled either.

Everywhere you went within the royal residence, people spoke in hushed tones and furtive whispers. Those staff who still had duties to attend to at such an hour did so with a careful economy of motion and an even more miserly exchange of words. They were the lucky ones. The rest of the palace retinue merely sat around in small groups, nervously waiting for any news to trickle down to their level. Tension roamed through the many rooms like a living thing. The entire castle seemed to be holding its breath, waiting anxiously for it to pass.

In the royal bedchambers, a woman screamed.

The queen rose up from her pillow, her face contorted with pain and effort. She was covered with sweat, and her jaw clenched as she struggled once again to push against the cause of her distress. After a few seconds, however, she once again collapsed back onto the bed, panting and sobbing. All of that still had not been enough.

"That's good, Your Majesty," came the voice from the foot of the bed. "You're doing very well. Now just wait for the next contraction..."

The midwife's calm and steady tone did little to soothe the queen. As she struggled to collect her strength for the next push, she cast about for her husband. "My love?" she called out, raising her hand weakly off the bed.

He was beside her in an instant. "I'm here," he said in his deep and rolling voice. Her delicate hand nearly vanished within his massive one as he enfolded it with surprising gentleness. "There's nothing to worry about." He smiled at her, though it was nearly lost behind his thick, dark beard. Nevertheless, she managed to smile back, more reassured by his presence than by any words from the woman overseeing the birth.

The king held her gaze until the next contraction hit. Then, the queen's eyes squeezed tightly shut as she once again curled upright and pushed with all her might. Again, she fell back onto the bedsheets, gasping for breath. Her husband could feel in her hand alone just how much this was taking out of her.

He turned to regard the midwife, but her attention was focused entirely on the queen and she had none to spare for him. So instead, he looked up at one of her assistants who stood slightly behind her, ready to provide clean cloths or any other services that might be required. The young woman glanced back at him briefly, although she did not say a word.

She did not need to, however. He had read everything he'd needed to in that look. The birth was not going well.

He felt the fingers within his own contract slightly, and he returned his gaze to his dear wife. Again he smiled, and he hoped that she would not be able to read the worry within his eyes.

"You're doing so well, my darling," he said to her in as reassuring a tone as his gravelly voice could manage. "So well. Just a little more and then it will all be over."

A smile began to lift her lips as well, but then another spasm gripped her and another pained howl was torn from her throat.

"The head is crowning," announced the midwife. "We're nearly there, Your Majesty. Just keep breathing. That's it."

The queen looked up at her husband, and in that moment, he knew. She could feel that something wasn't right. The fear and sadness on her face made his blood turn to ice. Yet that was not the only thing he saw. There was a grim determination hidden amid the anguish as well. She was not about to give up on their baby. She would fight for it with every ounce of will that she possessed.

He reached out with his free hand and caressed her cheek with his thick fingers. She closed her eyes, tilting her head into his touch. For a moment, her features held a calm contentment that was almost angelic. In her husband's eyes, she had never looked more beautiful than in that instant.

Another tortured wail shattered the spell. The queen grimaced, bearing down once again and pushing with all of her ebbing strength.

When she fell back this time, she didn't even bother to open her eyes. She simply lay there, gulping in lungfuls of air that her body barely seemed to notice. The king lifted her delicate hand to his lips, kissed its fingers lovingly, one by one. "I'm here," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm here. I'm here." He kept repeating the words over and over and over again.

The final scream shredded the king's soul.

He heard a gasp from the midwife's assistant, but he did not turn. A few seconds later, he heard a smacking sound followed by the newborn's first cries to the world. Still, his eyes remain fixed upon his wife's face. She had gone frightfully pale. Her breathing no longer came in great gasps, but now rattled feebly in her chest.

"Take the child to the wet nurse," he heard the midwife say, though the words came to him as if from an unfathomable distance.

"No." The word seemed to just fall out of the queen's mouth, there was so little energy behind it. Her eyes fluttered, then managed to open halfway. "Let me see... my baby."

Though the king did not see it, the midwife nodded her assent. Her young assistant walked quickly around to the side of the bed, where she lowered herself to place the swaddled infant ever so carefully next to its mother.

With an effort that was agonizing to behold, the queen raised her trembling hand to lightly brush the newborn's cheek. "Beautiful," she breathed. "My beautiful baby." Then her eyelids slid shut. A loose lock of brown hair that had fallen across her face still fluttered with each exhalation. Otherwise, all was still.

"Go now," the midwife ordered quietly. Her aide nodded, lifted the babe into her arms once more, and hurried out of the room.

She did not have far to go. The nursery had been prepared in the room adjacent to the royal sleeping quarters, and the door stood open awaiting the arrival of its new resident. A handful of women of varying ages waited anxiously in chairs that they had pulled together into a tight cluster in the middle of the room, near the empty crib. They all looked up when the young woman entered, then sprang to their feet at the sight of the bundle she held in her arms.

The queen's lady-in-waiting took a hesitant step forward, searching the newcomer's face for a hopeful sign. What she found instead sent her staggering backward, remaining on her feet only by the grace of the other women. They lowered her back onto her seat, where she buried her face in her hands and began to weep inconsolably. The oldest of the group settled into the chair beside hers, draped an arm across the trembling shoulders, and tried her best to soothe the younger woman even as tears ran down her own wrinkled cheeks.

The rest of the women gathered around the wet nurse as she tenderly took the newborn into her arms. Lowering herself into the vacated rocking chair, she held the infant to her bosom, cooing softly to the babe as she waited patiently for instinct and hunger to drive action, as they always did eventually.

"So the queen is...?" one of them finally asked of the midwife-in-training.

The poor girl blanched then. "I... I'm not sure. She was still with us when I left, but..." She closed her eyes, only to immediately find herself regretting it. The images that still hid behind them were enough to turn her stomach.

"There was so much blood," she whispered. She leaned heavily upon the back of a chair, still wobbling unsteadily even with that support.

"The queen has always been fragile," said the eldest of them from her seat beside the still sobbing woman. "She was always such a tiny slip of a thing. Her first pregnancy was difficult too. The entire kingdom prayed for her then, as they do tonight. But it may be that two such miracles are more than can be granted in a single lifetime."

The rest of the group nodded somberly. "That's why the king and queen waited so long before they tried for a second child," one said sagely. "From what I heard, the king didn't want to take the risk. But she wanted another so badly, and he never could say no to her."

"It is rare indeed that a marriage of political convenience should prove to be so remarkable a balm to two such dissimilar souls," commented another. "Though what exactly Her Majesty got out of it, I'm sure I do not know. And yet, she has always seemed well contented."

"Well, if nothing else," came a voice from a little below the rest of the women, "it at least gave her beautiful children."

All eyes turned toward the infant, who had finally begun to suckle for the first time.

"Poor thing," the wet nurse continued as she rocked gently back and forth. "Today should have been a joyous occasion to celebrate your arrival into this world. Instead, you've been greeted only by tears and sorrow. I do hope you don't take it to heart, little one. You aren't alone, you know. There are still so many people you have yet to meet, so many people who will love you no matter what."

"And here's one of those people now, unless I'm very much mistaken," said the old woman. Everyone turned to look at her. Then as one, they followed her gaze to the open door, where a pair of wide green eyes peeked shyly into the room.

"Come in, dear," the matron said kindly. She discretely brushed the tears from her face and managed a friendly smile. Even the queen's personal confidante managed to pull herself together, only a sniffle or two remaining to betray her aching heart. "Come say hello to the newest member of your family."

Hesitantly, the royal couple's firstborn child slipped quietly into the nursery. The knot of women parted to make room for the first meeting of the two siblings.

The wet nurse gifted the nervous six-year-old with a smile of her own as the youngster came to a halt beside the arm of her chair. The baby, apparently having drunk its fill for the moment, had turned away from her breast. Now it gave a tiny little yawn. One pudgy arm, which had managed to slip free of the warm blankets that swathed the small body, waggled aimlessly. Miniature fingers grasped unknowingly at the air.

Then at last, they closed on something: another small finger that still managed to look massive in comparison to the infant's diminutive hands. Despite the dark tidings that had so far clouded the proceedings, nearly every face now found room for a smile as they watched the two children coming to grips with one another, as it were.

And no face held a bigger smile than that of the newborn's older sister.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" she asked the woman who even now continued to soothe the sleepy babe with her gentle rocking. "Do I have a brother or a sister?"

The wet nurse began to speak, only to realize that she did not know the answer herself. Once again, all eyes turned to the midwife's apprentice, who somehow managed another small smile. "It's a boy," she replied.

The princess's face lit up once again as she turned back to gaze at the pink face poking out from amid its white cocoon. "Hello, baby brother," she said happily, so far still blissfully unaware of the troubling news that weighed down all the other hearts in the room. "What's his name?"

"Rose!" came a gruff voice from the doorway. The startled princess jumped, then quickly drew away from brother and nurse. She immediately pulled her hands together behind her back, as if to hide what they had just been doing. Then, following the example of all the women around her, she lowered herself in a respectful curtsy. Even the wet nurse rose from her seat, still cradling the baby in her arms, to pay homage to the lord of the castle.

A chorus of "Your Majesties" immediately followed as King Ragnarr of Arendelle strode into the nursery. When the king drew near, the nurse curtsied a second time, then held the infant boy out toward his father.

King Ragnarr stood like a mountain, solid and heavy and unyielding. He made no move to take his son from the arms of the increasingly apprehensive woman standing before him. His hands did not so much as twitch where they hung at his sides. All he did was look down upon his newborn child. His face was as immobile as his body. It might have been carved out of granite for all the expression it showed.

A small bubble of spittle grew from between the baby's lips before silently popping. The wet nurse smiled for an instant, but then immediately schooled herself under her sovereign's grim gaze.

No one dared to speak. Even the crackling fire seemed to have become subdued in the king's presence.

"So small," he said at last, after a stillness so prolonged that many a well-discipline servant would have found it difficult not to fidget. The women in the nursery that night, however, dared not let any such impatience show. "How could something so small have done so much...? How could _this _have been responsible for taking away my...?"

The silence that followed made the one before seem raucous by comparison. In the end, only the courage of a life long-lived was sufficient to break it. "So it is true then," the old woman intoned solemnly. It was not a question. Nevertheless, the king jerked his head once in acknowledgment of the inescapable truth.

If her father's demeanor was upsetting the older women, it was positively terrifying the young princess. She looked from face to face, hoping to find one that held answers for her. None dared to meet her eyes, however. At last, she returned her attentions to the king.

"Papa?" she inquired, her voice quavering. But the only response the burly man gave was to close his eyes, as if hoping that might be enough to hide himself away from the horrors of that night.

His daughter moved forward again to stand before him, just next to the wet nurse who was cradling the infant prince against her chest once more. "Papa?" she asked again. "What's wrong? Where's Mama? Can I go see her now?"

The queen's lady-in-waiting broke down again then, and once more fell heavily back into her chair.

"Your Majesty," one of the other ladies ventured uncertainly, "if you wish, I could take the princess back to her room and..."

"No," he said huskily. "No, she needs to... She deserves a chance to say..." But the king could not bring himself to complete either thought. Instead, he simply placed one huge hand upon the girl's narrow shoulder. "Come with me, Rose."

"Are we going to see Mama?" There was a hopefulness in her voice, but it was impossible for her not to pick up on the mood of the adults surrounding her. Her fear was plainly visible on her face, even though she was clearly trying her best to be brave in front of her father.

"Yes," was the only word that Ragnarr was able to choke out.

The king began to lead the princess towards the door. Then, however, she suddenly seemed to remember something. Turning, she darted back to the nurse and gestured for her to lower the bundled baby down to her level. Complying, the woman sat once again in the rocking chair and tilted her body to present the now sleeping prince to his sister.

"Goodbye, little brother," she said quietly, so as not to wake him. "I'll be back soon, I promise." Then, she planted a kiss upon the tip of one finger and pressed it ever so lightly to the infant's forehead. Smiling up at the nurse, she turned and hurried back to where her father waited with numb detachment. She slipped her hand into his, and marveled for a moment at how much it resembled her brother's tiny hand gripping her own.

As they once again began to walk out of the nursery, the princess couldn't help but ask, "Does my brother have a name yet, Papa?"

"Yes," he answered thickly. "Your mother named him just before..." His footsteps faltered. He looked back over his shoulder at the group of women and the one tiny baby boy.

"Your mother chose a name for him," he said, and tried not to hear the echoes of her thready whisper in his head. "He will be Prince Agdar, heir to the throne of Arendelle."

The princess looked back into the nursery as well. She appeared to be trying to marry the new name to the strange round face she had only just met. "I like it," she decided at last. "Goodbye, Agdar," she called softly. Completely oblivious to the tangle of emotions that her father fought to keep off his face high above her, she began to walk forward once again, tugging his massive hand along behind her.

Father and daughter disappeared into the hallway, and a thick silence descended yet again upon the nursery. It lasted for many long seconds.

And then it was torn asunder.

"MAMA!"

In Arendelle Castle, beneath the golden light of lamp and hearth, the tears flowed freely from countless eyes all through that darkest of nights.

• • •

When Agdar finished speaking, Elsa simply stared at him, her mouth agape. She felt like she ought to say something, but words seemed so woefully inadequate.

"Of course, I didn't know any of this at the time," he continued, as if the mundane explanation for how he had come to know the entirety of the tale might in some way reduce its terrible impact. "It was only when I was much older that my sister told me what had happened. She herself only pieced it all together over time by talking to the women who were there in the nursery that night.

"She said it was something that she felt she'd simply needed to know."

"I... I had no idea," Elsa finally managed.

"Well," the king said, shifting somewhat uncomfortably in his seat, "it obviously isn't something that I particularly like to think about, much less talk about. I mean, I never got the chance to know my mother, so it doesn't bring back painful memories, exactly. But..." He hesitated, then tapped two fingers against his chest, right over his heart. "There's a hole there where I think she ought to have been. I've lived and loved enough in my life that, most of the time, I don't really notice it all that much. Every now and then, though..." He trailed off again. His eyes slid off his daughter's face and continued to drift away until he was soon gazing distractedly out the window behind her.

As she watched her father's pensive expression, she fancied that she could almost see him probing the mists of those missing memories, trying to find the shape of his mother by mapping the outlines of that empty void. Her heart went out to him as she contemplated what it would have been like to grow up without her own mother. That was when she found that her one hand had slowly begun creeping toward his. She stared at the white glove that now rested halfway along the edge of the desk. Then she drew it back, clasping it nervously in her lap.

She waited quietly then for him to speak again, but the king had apparently lost himself among the labyrinthine passages of the past. At last, though feeling terrible for having to disturb his reverie, she once again spoke into the silence.

"So... why are you telling me this? And why now?"

Agdar visibly shook himself as he returned to the present. Even then, however, he took another moment to collect his thoughts before he attempted an answer.

"No one," he began, "would have ever accused my father of being overly kind. In fact, from an early age he had earned a reputation for callousness and even cruelty. And woe unto you if you should ever have the misfortune to waken his fury, which was forever bubbling just beneath the surface.

"But my mother somehow had the remarkable ability to temper that anger. No one ever understood how she did it. From what I learned later from those who knew her best, I suspect it's quite likely that even she herself was never entirely certain. Ultimately, though, I think it probably came down to one simple thing.

"I think Mother was the one and only thing in his life that Father ever truly loved."

Elsa allowed her confusion to show on her face. "But you and your sister..."

Agdar's smile contained more than a touch of melancholy. "You have no idea how happy I am that you find such an idea so difficult to grasp," he replied. "Nevertheless, I will try my level best to explain it to you, because it is very important that you do understand it. And when I do, I hope you'll also begin to see the answers to the other two questions you just asked me. However..."

He sighed and passed a hand over his face. "I hope you'll forgive me if we pick up this story again another day. I've done my best to put these parts of my past behind me, and I've mostly managed to not even think about them for years at a time. So it isn't exactly easy for me to revisit them now."

"Then don't," Elsa said emphatically. "You don't need to."

"Oh, but I think I do," her father replied. "And I will. Just please be a little patient with me. Okay, princess?" Though clearly still uncomfortable with the situation, Elsa reluctantly nodded.

The new smile that came to Agdar's face was more open and genuine than any he had presented to his daughter so far that morning. "Well then, that's enough History for today. What say we change subjects for a little while, hmm? I'm thinking perhaps it might be time for a little Art Appreciation, wouldn't you agree? It's been quite a while since we last touched on that topic. So, have you added anything new to your sketchbooks since then?"

Elsa returned her father's smile, then turned to retrieve her drawing pad from the desk drawer. Spreading it open on the desk between them, she began to flip through some of her most recent drawings. Many were still done entirely with her pencils, but she had also been trying to incorporate color into select images using the pastels from her art kit. That was another gift, along with their nightly stories, that Anna made sure she never ran out of.

Agdar pointed out certain details that he particularly appreciated and commented proudly on how much her technique still continued to improve. The pictures flowed between them in a steady procession, capturing everything from objects in her room, to things she had seen out her window, to representations of ideas that had come entirely out of her own imagination. Yet even as she turned the pages, one singular image continued to pop into Elsa's mind over and over again.

A towering man, a mighty king, standing stiff and straight as a tiny infant was presented unto him. A father, refusing to even touch his newborn son. She couldn't help but shudder a little at the incomprehensible wrongness of it.

Nor could she help but be surprised (and oddly disappointed) when her father, misinterpreting the motion, pulled his chair a little farther away in an attempt to return some of the comfortable distance upon which he had encroached earlier.

Until that moment, she had not even realized how close the two of them had become.


	4. Their Own Private Game

Elsa found it difficult to put her father's story out of her mind, especially during their lessons together. The king might be explaining some important historical event or discussing the resolution of a particularly complicated dispute between two local merchants. The only thing she could think about, however, was that this man she had known all her life had in some sense been a stranger to her that entire time. Only now, after almost thirteen years, had he finally allowed her a glimpse at who he really was.

This realization both excited and frightened her in equal measures.

That was part of the reason why she did not prompt him to continue the story. She could not deny her curiosity. Yet at the same time, something about it seemed rather morbid. It was clear that these were traumatic memories for her father, and she did not want to make him relive that pain on her account. Still, what little she had already learned had fundamentally changed the way she now thought about him. She wanted to know the rest of the story, because she wanted to know the rest of the man.

Even without her asking, however, it was only a matter of time before Agdar figured out what was going through his daughter's mind. Her state of distraction was difficult to ignore, after all. Or perhaps he had simply reached the point where he finally felt ready to dip into his past once again. Whatever the case, the moment arrived four lessons later.

With no apparent warning, Agdar abruptly closed the textbook that the princess had been trying (and mostly failing) to absorb for the past ten minutes. She looked up at him, startled, fully expecting to see a look of irritation on his face for her failure to concentrate properly. What she found instead was a deeply contemplative expression looking back at her.

"I suppose I did promise you, didn't I?" he said at last.

"Promise me what?" she replied, unwilling to jump to conclusions just yet.

"That I would tell you more about my past. About my childhood. About my father." He smirked. "Clearly, our lessons will continue to be somewhat impaired until I follow through on that promise. So I suppose this is as good a time as any. Now, where did we leave off?"

"You said that your mother was the only person that your father ever loved," Elsa responded perhaps just a touch too eagerly. "But that couldn't be true, could it? What about you and your sister?"

Agdar nodded. "Ah yes, now I remember. Well, I suppose it is true that my father did show some affection towards my sister. Unfortunately, I don't know that he ever really saw her as her own person. I'm not sure he loved her so much as he loved what she represented in his mind. To him, she was a memory of his beloved wife. Everyone always said how very much alike the two of them looked, after all. More than that, though, she was a reminder of the years they'd had together. I think those memories were what he truly loved."

The king smiled sadly. "And then, of course, there was me."

• • •

"Whatcha doin', Prim?"

The brown haired princess began to smile even before she turned to look at the little boy standing in her doorway. Everyone else in the castle, including her father, took the more obvious approach when they chose to shorten her full name. They called her Rose. But for some reason, her little brother felt the need to be different. Agdar was the only one who ever just called her Prim. He always had, ever since he'd first learned how to talk.

"Oh, not much," she answered. "Just a bit of studying. Nothing that can't wait a little while." She scooted her chair back from the desk, turning to face him. It was all the invitation Agdar needed, and he walked smartly across the room. In fact, he walked right up to her desk, squeezing into the small space she had left behind, and tried to peer at the book that she'd left lying open.

Unfortunately, even standing on tiptoe, he still wasn't able to see it clearly. So she lifted him up and set him upon her lap, whereupon he promptly leaned forward to better examine the pages. Rose's smile broadened at the serious look on her brother's face. He was still only five and had only just begun tackling some of the beginners' books on his own. Nevertheless, he was very proud of the fact that he was now able to read with no (well, almost no) help. It was a skill he liked to demonstrate whenever possible, especially to his big sister.

"Looks hard," he declared at last. Then he leaned back and twisted around to look at her. "Need my help?"

Rose couldn't keep from laughing at her brother's completely earnest offer. She wrapped her arms around him and drew him into a hug, which he happily returned. "Seems to me you're helping already," she said. "I think I could use a study break."

"So do I!" he agreed as a wide grin spread across his face.

"Well then, what do you think we ought to do instead?"

"Let's play a game!" His answer came so quickly, it was obvious this must have been the real reason he'd sought out his big sister in the first place. Not that she hadn't already suspected as much, of course.

"A game, huh? Well, I know lots of games. I wonder what sort of game we ought to play..."

"I know!" Agdar chirruped. Squirming, he hopped down off her lap. Then he turned around and tapped her on the knee. "Tag!" he cried. She barely had time to glimpse his mischievous grin before he was sprinting for the door.

The princess only granted him a second or two for a head start before she took off in pursuit. Given that she was just over twice his age, with a much longer stride, she could easily have overtaken him in an even race. He, however, had the advantage of running in trousers, while she was encumbered by her long dress skirt. Though she would have been more than willing to slow her pace to make the game more fun, in the end they both seemed to be pretty evenly matched as it was.

Besides, her brother also had the edge when it came to dodging obstacles. Many of the palace staff were out and about in the hallways at this time of day, and he was able to squeeze through the small gaps between them that would simply not accommodate her. He took advantage of this particular tactic many times just as she was closing the gap and starting to reach out for him. This was usually followed by merry giggles on his part and rushed apologies on hers as she pirouetted around the surprised servants.

They'd run halfway through the castle before her fingers finally brushed the back of his shirt. "Tag!" she proclaimed triumphantly, if a little breathlessly. Then she quickly spun round and, lifting up her skirts, darted off in a different direction. The sound of Agdar's running feet and happy laughter were soon following close behind her.

She was so caught up in their little game that she didn't notice the change in the expressions of those around her. When she had first run off in pursuit of her little brother, the faces of those they raced by in the passages had varied from amusement to bemusement. Mostly though, they had all seemed to find the sight a cause for at least mild mirth.

Here and now however, though she paid little heed to them as she ran past, the character of the servants and staff had taken a significant turn towards the grim. Some scowled moodily. Others looked worried and anxious. Smiles had apparently become a rare commodity in this part of the palace, and laughter was a thing unknown.

In her excitement and haste, Rose completely failed to make the connection. She should have. She should have been paying closer attention. She should have known better. But it was so easy to forget herself, to let something slip, when she was playing with her brother. It always felt like she was making up for the parts of her childhood she'd sort of had to skip over the first time around.

She'd been forced to grow up faster than she should have after their mother had passed away. Being so much older, she had honestly become more than just a sister to Agdar. She was, in many ways, the mother that he had never known. At the same time, he had become the brightest spot in her world during these past five years. She looked after him, cared for him, taught him. She protected him.

Except when she didn't.

The sound of the crash from behind her brought her stumbling to a halt. Looking back, she saw no sign of her brother down the section of corridor in which she stood. Hurrying back, she turned the corner and finally saw the source of the clatter and commotion.

A young servant woman stood in the middle of the hallway, one hand covering her mouth and the other holding a now very empty tray. The floor at her feet was littered with shards of white china, the gold trim that had once neatly encircled the edges now broken into short disconnected fragments. Mercifully, there wasn't much evidence of either food or drink amid the broken pieces. The poor lady must have been returning the empty dishes back to the kitchen, rather than delivering a meal.

Also standing beside the mess was, of course, Agdar, looking equal parts startled and repentant. "I'm sorry," he was saying, for what was clearly not the first time. "I didn't mean to." Then he caught sight of his sister watching. "It was an accident, Prim! Honest! I didn't see her. All of a sudden, she was there and I couldn't stop in time and..." He looked back down at the remains of the cups and dishes, then back up at the servant. "I'm sorry," he said yet again.

The princess began to walk forward, ready to help the house maid begin cleaning up the mess on the floor. Then suddenly, the door behind the young woman flew open, banging loudly as it reached the far limit of its hinges. Every single person in the hallway immediately became silent and rigid. Only then did Rose realize where she had unthinkingly run to during her flight from her little brother.

"What in the seven blazes is going on out here?" King Ragnarr roared.

With a glance, he took in the scene before him: the wide-eyed servant woman, her empty tray, the broken pieces of china. Then, nostrils flaring, he shifted all of his intimidating attention onto his son.

"You!" he thundered. "What happened? Explain yourself. Now!"

Agdar tried. He really did. But the fear that was so clearly reflected on his face had also thoroughly tied his tongue. He stammered incoherently for a moment. Then he cast about the passageway, looking anxiously for help. Naturally, his eyes turned to his sister. Before she could intervene, however, their father barked another order.

"Come here, boy!"

The knife-like edge to the king's tone only compounded the young prince's panic. That was why he did what just might have been the worst thing he could possibly have done at that moment. Instead of moving toward his father as he'd been commanded, he took an involuntary step backwards.

Ragnarr's huge form covered the distance between him and his son in a single stride. His hand shot out and wrapped tightly around Agdar's arm. Rose could see that their father's vice-like grip had to be hurting her brother, and yet he did not cry out. She wasn't sure if he was too surprised, too scared, or had simply realized that to do so would only make things even worse for him.

"First, your carelessness and recklessness causes this," the king said in a quiet voice that was somehow even more disturbing than his earlier bellows. "Then, you refuse to answer me when I ask you a simple question. And now, you outright disobey me? I will not tolerate such behavior, do you hear me? Do you understand?"

Agdar was nodding frantically, but this did not seem to be good enough for the king. Without another word of accusation or explanation, he spun the young prince around. Then, still keeping a firm grip on his son's arm with one hand, Ragnar began to pull his other hand back. Farther and farther back.

The princess was not the only one who jumped at the sound of that huge hand connecting with the boy's backside. This time, Agdar did cry out most piteously. He cried out again when the second blow fell. And then the third.

Ragnarr was drawing back for yet another strike when he suddenly found his daughter standing before him.

"Primrose," he rumbled. "Get. Out. Of. The. Way." Each clipped word came out through his clenched teeth like the crack of a whip.

"It was my fault, Father," the princess declared. "Not Agdar's. I was the one who accidentally bumped into the tray and tipped it over. In fact, I was just hurrying off to get a broom and dustpan to help clean up the mess. Agdar was only staying behind to make sure everybody stayed well clear until I could get back, so that they wouldn't cut themselves on any of the sharp edges."

The king glared at her for a moment before he spoke again. "Are you certain," he said then, in a voice like the grinding of stone beneath the mountains, "that you want to lie to me right now?"

It was a struggle for her simply to continue to look her father in the eyes just then. They burned with a cold fire that would need only the slightest push to ignite into a raging inferno. Her mouth went completely dry. If she hadn't heard her brother's almost inaudible whimper from behind her, she might not have been able to answer at all. As it was, she swallowed with difficulty and then spoke.

"It's just one cup and one plate," she replied in an attempt to redirect the conversation. "We must have thousands more exactly like them. Surely, no one will ever even notice they're missing."

"That is not the point," Ragnarr growled. Rose wanted to let herself believe that the flames in the king's eyes just possibly had receded ever so slightly. At the very least, they had not grown any higher. At that moment, she considered that a step in the right direction.

"You're right," she acknowledged contritely. "I'm sorry. And so is Agdar. It was an accident. It won't happen again. I'll make sure of that."

Father and daughter stared at one another, each trying to determine how far the other was willing to press the issue. The king appeared ready to engage in yet another round when a voice called out from the doorway that still stood open behind him. "Your Majesty?"

That was apparently enough to convince Ragnarr that there were other matters more important at that moment than his children. The princess had rarely before been so pleased by his choice of priorities. "See that you do," he said curtly in acknowledgment of her promise. He gave Agdar one last savage shake before finally letting him go. Then he pivoted and reentered the room from which he had come, slamming the door brutally behind him.

Rose breathed a sigh of relief. Turning, she spared her brother a reassuring glance before she then knelt down and began carefully transferring the largest china fragments from the floor onto the silver serving tray.

"Your Highness," the house maid interrupted, extending her hand to cover up the next piece for which the princess had been reaching. "Please don't trouble yourself. I will clean this up. Truthfully, you've done more than enough." The words were sincere, not sarcastic. The young woman's face clearly showed her gratitude for the princess's efforts to diffuse the perilous situation.

At that moment, another servant bustled up with the broom and dustpan that Rose had just claimed she'd been hurrying off to fetch. After giving her a quick smile, the older man immediately set to work. In a matter of seconds, the detritus had vanished from the floor as if the entire incident had never happened.

"Thank you," Rose said to the man as he straightened from his task. "And again, our apologies." This she addressed to the maid.

The woman curtseyed and finally managed a smile of her own. "Please, Your Highness. It was only an accident. And after all, you were quite right." She lowered her voice in a faux-confidential whisper. "It isn't like anybody will ever notice if we only have seven thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine plates, now is it?" The two shared a silent laugh.

At last, the princess turned to her brother, who had simply moved out of everyone's way and sat now against the wall, his forehead resting on his knees. She walked over, crouched down beside him, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. When he looked up, wet rivulets glistened upon his cheeks, even though it was obvious he'd been trying his best not to cry.

"I'm sorry," he moaned. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble. I only wanted to have a little fun."

"I know," she assured him. "It really was my fault. I should have paid more attention to where I was leading us. If it had happened anywhere else..." She sighed, then reached out to brush away a tear from his cheek.

"Come on," she said, taking him by the hand and giving him a gentle tug. "I think I know of a game we can play that ought to be a little safer."

Agdar sniffed once as he let his sister help pull him to his feet. He was clearly still upset, but there was also curiosity emerging in his expression as well. "Is it a fun game?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, I think so," she replied as she led him back through the corridors. "But it requires you to think a bit more than the games you're probably used to. You really have to be smart to play it well, so I don't know. You might not like it..."

Her little gambit paid off. Agdar puffed out his chest and adopted what he clearly thought was a stern and serious look, but which instead came off looking a bit more like a pout. "I'm smart," he declared proudly. "I can read and I can do my numbers and... and everything. I'm sure I can play a silly game. In fact, I bet I'll be better at it than you, Prim!"

"Oh, I have no doubt," she replied as she tried to suppress a chuckle. "I'm not all that good myself. But then, I'm not as smart as you are either."

They finally arrived at their destination, a small little room tucked away in a quiet corner of the castle. A subtle sense of disuse hung about the place. Not that it was dirty or dusty or anything; the palace staff was far too diligent to let that happen. It simply lacked that indescribable quality that said, "Somebody lives in this room." All the same, it still felt cozy and inviting, as it was just waiting patiently to be of use to someone once again.

"This used to be Mother's parlor," Rose explained to her brother, doing a commendable job of keeping her voice light and cheerful. She walked over to a cabinet in the corner, then stooped down, opened the bottom doors, and began rummaging amongst the shelves. "It was her private space, where she'd come for some peace and quiet when the bustle of the castle became a little too much. She'd take tea here, or just sit and think. Sometimes, she would invite me in and try to teach me... Ah, here it is!"

The princess straightened up and turned around. In one hand, she held a thin wooden board, beautifully stained in an alternating pattern of lighter and darker squares. In the other, she held a hinged box whose color was a perfect match for the trim around the edge of the board. Both of these she then carried over to the little round table in the middle of the floor.

As she set the board down, Agdar climbed up onto one of the chairs, kneeling on the seat so he could get a better look at the strange new treasures. By this point, his curiosity had completely supplanted his earlier distress. He watched as the princess opened the box and began to remove a collection of little carved figures, some black and some white. Each one, she carefully placed on a very particular square upon the board – the white ones arranged along the side closer to her and the black ones closer to her brother.

Agdar picked up one of the black pieces and brought it up to his face so that he could inspect it more closely. It was the most immediately recognizable of the set. "A horse?" he asked uncertainly.

"That's a knight," Rose corrected him as she finished putting the last of the pieces into position. "This is a pawn, that's a bishop, that one that looks like a castle tower is called a rook. And these two in the middle are the king and the queen." She pointed at each piece in turn as she named them.

"The goal of the game is to capture the opponent's king by moving one of your pieces onto the same square that the king is on. The trick is that each type of piece can only move in a certain way. For example, the bishops can move across as many empty spaces as they want, but only diagonally. The rooks are similar, but they can only move straight ahead, straight back, or side-to-side."

"What about the king?" Agdar asked immediately. "I bet he can go anywhere, right?"

Rose smiled. "Actually, the king can only move one space at a time, but in any direction. It's the queen that has the most freedom of movement. She can move either like a rook or a bishop."

The boy's brow furrowed in confusion and concentration. "Can you go over all that again, but a little slower?"

And after indulging in a light laugh, that's exactly what Primrose did. It took a few tries and a couple of practice games before Agdar was finally able to keep all of the rules straight, but he really was a bright lad for his age.

The princess had been entirely truthful when she'd said she wasn't all that good herself. Besides, since she had only ever played with her mother, she'd had no practice in several years. If she won a couple more games than he did, Agdar didn't seem to mind. Something about the game had instantly caught his fancy, and he was hooked straight away.

They spent the rest of that afternoon hidden away in the almost forgotten room, stumbling through one match after another, each learning as they went. Nobody else bothered them. The quiet was only interrupted by their own conversation, intermittent exclamations of triumph, and (now and again) embarrassed laughter when one of them would make a particularly foolish move.

The little parlor had now become their place. Those hours were their time.

It was all their own private game.

• • •

"Odd as it may sound," Agdar confessed to his daughter, "chess really did become a special kind of connection between my sister and me. Whenever we both had free time, we would often as not sneak off to play a game or two. Usually, we'd go to my mother's parlor. Sometimes though, when the weather was particularly fine, we'd take the pieces out into the gardens and play there instead." A wistful smile and a far off gaze made it abundantly clear that the king still had vivid memories of those warm summer days.

Elsa, however, privately considered chess to be the least interesting part of her father's story. "But why did your father – my grandfather –" She paused for a moment, for the word felt strange upon her tongue and the idea did not seem to fit quite right in her head either. "Why did he treat you that way? What you did wasn't that bad. I mean, for as many times as Anna..."

Agdar chuckled. "There are reasons why I never allowed myself to get too very upset about the occasional collapsed suit of armor. Or broken washbasins."

He winked at Elsa, who stared blankly back at him for a moment. She glanced over at her own washbasin where it sat on its little stand, as usual. "I don't..."

"Oh, I believe you told me some story about how you had dropped your hairbrush. Of course I knew that wasn't the sound that I'd heard, and your washbasin was mysteriously missing that day, so I just naturally assumed..."

It only took another moment before Elsa made the connection. "Oh." She smiled back sheepishly. "You do know that I didn't actually break the washbasin, right?"

"I didn't at the time, but I figured it out later." He honestly had not thought that much about it the day it had happened, and he had put it out of his mind so soon thereafter that he had never really even thought twice about the fact that the basin had somehow returned to its usual spot sometime later. He'd only put the pieces together after Elsa had finally confided to her parents that she'd been secretly practicing her ice magic in her room.

"But I'm digressing, aren't I?" he said apologetically. "You asked a question, and I still owe you an answer.

"I told you what my father saw when he looked at my sister – the memory of the life that he'd had with his beloved wife. It should be little surprise then what a man like that would see when he looked at me. To him, I was a constant reminder of my mother's death. In his mind, I was the one who took her away from him. I didn't understand this until I was much older, but I think it was why nothing I ever did could please him, no matter what I tried."

"But that's... that's totally unfair!" Elsa blurted out. "What happened wasn't your fault. How could he think that?"

"It's probably pointless to try to understand madness," Agdar replied. Then, in response to the princess's shocked look, he shrugged. "That's the only word I have for it. My father was always an angry man who tended to prefer to solve problems with force whenever he thought he could. That wasn't his madness, however. That was simply who he was, and not all people are kind or good, of course.

"On the night my mother died, though, I truly believe something broke in his mind. Grief and loss can do strange things to people. For all those years, she had been the one thing in his life that had been able to calm him, to make him a better man than he was wont to be on his own. To have that suddenly torn away from him in such a terrible way... Well, I can almost understand what that must have done to him.

"When I nearly faced a similar situation, I think I went mad myself for a time."

Elsa's blue eyes grew wide and round in her head.

Agdar chose his next words with exquisite care. "When Anna was hurt that night, I was beside myself with panic. The thought of losing her, of losing either of my beautiful girls, was one I'd hoped I would never have to face. Yet suddenly, there it was and all too real. Only one thought kept running through my head. 'Protect, protect, protect.' Nothing else mattered. I didn't stop to think, I simply reacted. Or, more to the point I think, overreacted."

The princess began shaking her head adamantly. "No, you were right, Father. You were right all along. I can't control this curse, and that makes me a danger to everyone around me. You did the right thing."

"Did I?" He scooted his chair closer to his daughter, then leaned forward to add even greater emphasis to what he was about to say.

"Have you ever wanted to hurt anyone?"

"No, of course not."

"Have you ever tried to hurt anyone?"

"No!"

"Were you trying to hurt Anna?"

"No! Father, how could you...?"

"So it was an accident?"

"Yes!"

"Just a simple mistake."

"Yes!"

"And do you think people should have to pay for the rest of their lives for a mistake, for an accident that was beyond their control?"

"No! Yes! I mean... It's more than just a mistake. It's who I am. It's what I am!"

"Ah, in the same way that I am the one whose birth led to my own mother's death. That's part of who I am too, Elsa."

"But you had no control over that. There was nothing you could have done. You were just a baby."

"You were born with your powers, Elsa. You had no control over that either."

"I have control now, though! Maybe not over my powers, but at least over the risks I take with them. I shouldn't... I probably shouldn't even let you and Mother this close to me. I could still hurt you too, and I could never live with myself if I did that."

"It's a risk we're more than willing to take, sweetheart," Agdar replied calmly. "It's a risk any parent... well, any good parent is always willing to take. Your child's safety and happiness become more important to you than your own ever were. I forgot that for a time, and I fear that I may regret that lapse for the rest of my life.

"But that's what love is, Elsa. That's what we're both talking about here. Your love for Anna, for me and your mother, that's what keeps driving you to push us all away. And our love for you is what keeps each of us coming back. We want to help heal you, to heal this entire family, and I for one will never stop trying. Do you understand that?"

The troubled princess did not reply.

The two sat in silence for a while then, each realizing that they had no hope of convincing the other to see their point of view on this day. Both were too stubborn to change their minds. Both were also too stubborn to give up trying to change the other's.

Father and daughter both thought quietly, trying out one plea after another in their heads, anticipating the responses, preparing their counterarguments, each trying to think a dozen moves ahead of their opponent.

It was all their own private game.


	5. The White Queen

**A/N: Ugh. Work was a nightmare this past week. Hopefully, I've gotten through the worst of it for a while. But can we all just agree right now that it sucks to not be independently wealthy? Okay, good. Moving right along then...**

* * *

"You still never really answered my question, you know. Don't think that I've forgotten."

Elsa looked up from the algebra problem on which she had been working, to find her father gazing at her thoughtfully.

"What?" she asked in confusion. "What question?"

"Do you want to be Queen?"

Elsa found his matter-of-fact restatement to be in woeful discord with the crazy tangle of emotions the seemingly simple question brought bubbling up within her. She lowered her eyes back to her paper, only to find that her pencil had been distractedly retracing the same small circle over and over again. She quickly set it down upon the desk and folded her hands in her lap.

"You told me," Agdar continued, "all the reasons why you thought you shouldn't be queen. And as I said then, it was very brave to confess your fears the way you did. But what we fear and what we want are two very different things. Which means you still owe me an answer to my original question."

Elsa closed her eyes. She had thought that the answer she had given weeks ago had been enough, when it had first led to her father opening up with tales of his own troubled childhood. After that, she had been more than happy to consider the matter closed. It now seemed clear, however, that she'd been rather premature in that assessment.

"Does it really matter?" she asked plaintively. "Whether I want to or not, it's who I am. I can't escape it, any more than I can escape this." She held up her gloved hands to demonstrate her point.

"Of course it matters. It makes all the difference in the world. No one knows for sure what the future will bring. Not even wise old trolls," he said with a smile. Elsa looked at him with a startled but curious expression. "My point is: what chance can you possibly have of building the right future for yourself if you don't even know what it is you want that future to be? You have to start that process somewhere, so why not start here?"

"Because," the princess replied dolefully, "I haven't gotten what I've wanted for a very long time."

Agdar stared at her, concern etched deeply upon his face. It was tearing him up inside to see his daughter so apparently devoid of hope. No child should be this worn-down at such a young age. That simply was not the way the world was supposed to work.

Except that sometimes, it did. And unfortunately, happy childhoods seemed to be in short supply in this family.

"You make it sound so simple," Elsa went on quietly. "Just one little question with one little answer: yes or no. But it's not that easy. I'm sure it was different for you, but for me, it just isn't that black and white."

The princess jumped as a bark of laughter escaped her father.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. It's just... that you should choose that particular turn of phrase. You simply reminded me of..." He paused, then nodded to himself.

"I think it's time for another history lesson."

• • •

The view out the little parlor window was rather odd that day, to be sure. The snow-covered ground would have blended almost perfectly into the cloudy gray-white sky, if not for the band of dark mountains that surrounded Arendelle and blocked all sight of the distant horizon. Even then, the snowcaps atop the tall peaks seemed to cause their outlines to waver, making them difficult to see clearly. In the end, the rocky slopes looked like nothing so much as a jagged black rent torn across an otherwise unblemished white canvas. Over it all, the snow continued to fall.

Agdar thought that it ought to feel stranger than it did to see the world outside almost literally in black and white. Then it occurred to him that, after all the hours he and Prim had spent together contemplating the similar stark contrasts of the chessboard, this monochromatic vista actually felt quite familiar and somehow comforting. He could almost picture pawns and knights advancing and retreating along the streets of the sleepy town that lay beyond the castle walls.

Eventually, the prince turned his attention back upon his sister as she studied the board between them. Her hand reached out toward her knight, hovered for a moment, then drew back to once again cradle her chin as she carefully considered her options. Rarely was Rose's face as serious as it was during one of their matches.

Chess, he had discovered, was an excellent teacher of patience. When they had first begun exploring the game together, they'd sometimes been able to squeeze in half a dozen rounds in an afternoon. Now, as often as not, they'd be lucky to complete a single game during that same time. Still, he had taken this lesson to heart a bit more readily than Primrose had. He was certain that was why, despite her small head start in the game and her six year head start in life, she had nevertheless fallen decidedly behind in their long-running competition.

Not that either of them kept count, of course. At least, neither one would ever admit to knowing the score.

He looked down as a quiet _tock_ heralded the movement of the white queen to a new square. Then he watched as one of his bishops disappeared into his sister's hand. So far today, they had remained pretty evenly matched, and the state of the board reflected that. White and black were represented in almost equal measure. Yet despite that fact, Prim's face had a sour look to it.

He knew why, of course. Slowly and carefully, he had managed to maneuver her into a situation where the only choices left to her had been bad ones. No doubt that had been why she'd taken so long to make her move, as she struggled to decide which of them would hurt the least. In the end, she had made the same choice that he would have in her situation, but he knew it had to have been irksome.

The prince took his own time now to reexamine the board once again before committing to his next move. It never hurt to be careful, or to double check that you hadn't missed something. Few things could lead to problems more quickly than charging right in, confident that you already knew the right thing to do. Better to think things through a second and third time, rather than simply acting on what seemed right at the moment.

Even though he was only nine years old, that was an adult lesson in patience that he had already learned – and from more teachers than just chess.

At last, feeling reasonably confident that he hadn't missed anything, Agdar reached out and slid his rook five spaces forward. He heard Prim suck on her teeth in annoyance as the white queen rose off the board and out of play.

"Had to do it," she grumbled. "Otherwise, you would have mated me in just a few more moves."

"I still might," he replied. She shot him a dirty look, but he didn't really notice. Instead, he was holding the captured playing piece up in front of his face, spinning it between his fingers and admiring the subtle craftsmanship that had gone into its making. That's how it must have looked to his sister, at any rate. In reality, however, Adgar's mind had somewhat uncharacteristically wandered away from the game at hand. After a minute or so (which the princess spent reevaluating her strategy given her severely weakened forces), he spoke again.

"Prim, can I ask you a question?"

"Mm," she replied, just barely letting herself be distracted from the serious business of holding her own against her far-too-cunning-for-his-age brother.

"Do you ever resent me?"

Rose slowly tilted her head up to look at her sibling. Her face looked confused, and a little hurt. "Why would I ever...?"

Agdar shrugged, lowering his gaze in embarrassment and apology. "Well, I mean, for six years you believed that you were going to grow up to become queen someday," he said. "Nobody thought that Father and Mother would try to have another child, after all. But then suddenly, there I was. And Mother was gone."

"You know I don't blame you for that," Rose rebuked him mildly. "That's... something that no one should ever hold you responsible for."

They both knew how close she had come to saying, "That's Father's problem." They both also tactfully ignored that unspoken fact.

"Of course I know that," he replied. "It was more the other matter that I was thinking about. After all, you're fifteen now. Soon, you would have been really learning what it means to rule the kingdom. That is, if you hadn't already started by now. You would have begun attending meetings with Father and his advisors. You would be in the room to see how justice is done when the people bring their complaints and disputes before the throne. You might even have been allowed to sit in on negotiations with foreign leaders and diplomats.

"Then one day, you would have taken up the orb and scepter. There haven't been many ruling queens in Arendelle's history, but I just know you would have been a great one. And not just great, but Great. Like, Queen Primrose the Great, wise and just ruler of Arendelle, beloved of her people and respected by all."

By this point, the princess's face looked positively shocked. Her eyes were round, her eyebrows had climbed high up on her forehead, and her cheeks were pink quickly shading to red. "Agdar..."

"Oh, come on, Prim! You're a natural. You're smart and you're kind. Everybody in the kingdom already loves you. And you're a protector and peacemaker at heart. I mean, just look at how... how you..."

"And just what do you think you are, little brother?" she asked playfully. "Dumb and mean? A bully and a troublemaker? If that's how you see yourself, then I think we need to look into getting you a new mirror!"

Agdar was not about to be teased away from this line of thought, however. "You know it's true, Prim. They could crown you tomorrow, and you would still be amazing at it, even without all of that training you should have been getting. You're older and smarter than me, and you always will be. You would make a far better ruler than I ever will, if it weren't for some stupid old rule that says kings are better than queens."

Rose looked hard at her brother, but he would not meet her eyes. Instead, he continued to focus on the white queen as he rolled it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. Despite the fervor in his words, neither his face nor his voice betrayed anything of what he might be feeling. It was a habit she'd watched him gradually adopt over the years whenever his emotions threatened to get the better of him. Given his situation, this was all too understandable; it was a survival mechanism.

"First of all," she said, "yes, I will always be older than you. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid there just isn't very much I can do about that. As for being smarter or a better ruler... Well, you wouldn't remember much of me when I was nine years old. After all, you were only three then. So you'll just have to take my word for it when I tell you that I was never as studious as you are today. I would jump at any excuse to set aside my books for a while, especially if it meant I could go play with a certain young little prince."

"What you really mean is that you were never able to spend as much time on your studies, or any of the other things you could have and should have been doing," Agdar interrupted, "because you always had to take care of me. And you know that I love you all the more for it.

"But we both also know that you've never needed to study as hard as I do either. You pick up things so quickly that I have to work so hard to understand. I can only imagine where you'd be by now if you'd had the chance to really focus on all of your lessons. Honestly, I don't understand how you could not be angry with me at least a little. How much have you had to give up because of me?"

The princess scowled. "Well, I'm certainly starting to get angry," she replied pointedly. "Just what do you think you're doing, Agdar?"

Though his head remained lowered, his eyes flicked up briefly. They met hers for only a second before they dropped once again to the captured chess piece. "I'm not doing anything."

"You certainly aren't thinking," she countered. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd actually been listening to our father."

The white queen popped out of Agdar's grip. It danced across the tips of his fingers as he tried to regain control. He ended up stretched far to one side, leaning precariously on the edge of his chair, before he was finally able to pull it back into his palm. A moment later, it was rolling back and forth between his fingers once again, but his counterfeit indifference was utterly unconvincing.

"Oh, Agdar. Please tell me you're not still judging yourself through Father's eyes."

At last, the queen's little ballet came to a halt. Agdar's refusal to meet her gaze did not. Primrose sighed.

"I wish you weren't forever so concerned about what Father thinks of you. There are so many other – and so many better – places to turn if you truly want to know the quality of person you've become."

"He's our father, Prim. More than that, he's our king. What other opinion matters more when it comes to judging the heir to the throne?"

"How about mine?" she asked, allowing a bit of heat to creep into her voice. "All these years, I've watched you grow up. I could never replace our mother, but I've done the best I could to try and guide you, even though I had no idea what I was doing most of that time. I wanted to help you become the sort of young man in whom I think Mother would have been proud. And you are, Agdar. I don't know how much of a part I actually played in that, but please believe me when I say that I can think of no greater praise I could possibly give you. It's certainly far more worthwhile than any approval you could ever hope to win from our father." She spat the last word out like a curse.

A confusion of emotions finally found their way to Agdar's face. He wanted so badly to believe what she said. He longed to think that he was something more than a constant disappointment. Yet that was the story that had quite literally been beaten into him more times than he could count. That sort of denigration was not something one could easily let go.

"But he's the king..." he said again rather hopelessly.

"He's also only human," his sister responded, "and not the finest representative of the species at that."

Agdar appeared positively scandalized by her words. "Prim! That's our father you're talking about!"

"There might have been a time once when he deserved that title," Rose admitted, "at least from me. But he has never been a proper father to you, Agdar. Never. I only wish you'd had a chance to know what a real parent ought to be, if for no other reason than so you wouldn't think that what you've had to go through is in any way normal."

The two siblings looked at each other across the table, one too angry to speak and the other too confused. Primrose finally broke both the silence and their eye contact as she lowered her gaze back to the board once again. "Whose turn is it?" she asked wearily. "I can't remember."

"Yours," Agdar answered, holding up the queen as a reminder.

"Oh, right." She attempted to concentrate on the arrangement of the pieces once again, trying to regain the thread of the game in order to distract herself from other more aggravating thoughts. Unfortunately, it wasn't helping. She had completely lost track of the direction the match had been taking, and she was too shaken up now to reclaim it. Besides, as she considered the options available to her, the inevitable outcome became clear.

Reaching forward, she tipped her king over in surrender.

Her brother frowned, perplexed. "But you aren't mated yet," he said. "You're not even in check."

"I will be soon enough," she replied. "Even if I somehow manage to get out of this current predicament, it's only a matter of time. My head just isn't in the game."

Now Agdar's face reflected his disappointment... and guilt. His stupid question had ruined the perfectly fine game they'd been having. On top of that, he'd managed to make Prim angry. He should have known better. He should have just kept quiet, like he normally did. That was always the safest thing to do. If he ever dared to try and explain himself when his father became irate with him, it only made things worse. He would have to do better at just keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself.

He would also apparently have to work harder at keeping his emotions off his face, for his sister apparently had read much of what he'd been thinking from his expression. "Oh, I'm sorry, Agdar. It's not your fault, honestly. Tell you what, why don't we just start a new game? I'm quite sure I'd be able to focus again if we could just do that."

The prince didn't even nod in response, but instead simply began to reset the pieces to their starting positions. The entire time however, whether consciously or not, he kept the white queen tucked in the palm of his hand. Only when all the rest of the board was set did he finally reach across to set her in her proper place.

She was still hovering an inch above the playing surface, however, when the door swung open with a bang. Both brother and sister jumped, knocking into the table and toppling several pieces onto their sides. Agdar, who had been sitting with his back to the door, didn't even need to look behind him to know who stood in the doorway – only one person entered a room like that. He sprang to his feet, immediately straightening to near military attention.

"Father!" Rose exclaimed.

"There you are," the big man growled as he walked through the door. In the little room, he seemed to take up more space than should have been physically possible. "I've been looking all over for you." The glare he directed at his son made it clear that his words were meant for him and him alone.

Agdar knew that some response was expected from him. So as usual, he attempted to say as little as he could. "Yes, Father?"

"What were you doing in here anyway?" Agdar was spared the need to reply to that question as Ragnarr turned his scowl towards the table. "What is all this?"

"Chess," Agdar answered stiffly.

"Chess?"

"It's a game," Rose chimed in, hoping to deflect some of the king's ire away from her brother. Unfortunately, the king was apparently in one of his fouler moods – and when that happened, there was rarely anything that anyone could do to cool his wrath.

"A game?" he scoffed as he turned back to pin the prince with a look that would have curdled milk still in the cow. "You're almost ten years old, boy. I should think you're a little old for games by now. A king has no time to waste on such ridiculous nonsense, and you would do well to take that to heart right this instant. If you're ever going to amount to anything, you're going to need to put in a lot more work than you have so far. You have no time for silly games."

"Yes, Father," Agdar replied meekly.

"It's more than just a game," Rose interrupted. She knew full well that she was pushing her luck, but at the moment, she was also recklessly beyond caring. "It teaches you strategy and critical thinking. You have to analyze your opponent. You need to think four, six, ten moves ahead. You have to be very smart in order to play chess well." She thrust her chin out proudly in her brother's direction. "And Agdar is very good at it."

She immediately regretted her words. The king's expression, which had until now just reflected its all too common anger and disapproval, darkened into something more dangerous. He had not looked at his daughter the entire time she had been speaking, so the full force of the change bore down heavily upon his son.

"Is that true, boy?"

Agdar couldn't answer. To say yes would come across as boastful, but to say no would be to lie. No matter what response he gave, his father would find in it all the cause he needed to teach his errant offspring a lesson. So Agdar simply stared straight ahead and said nothing, knowing full well that such a choice was every bit as risky.

"I asked you a question," Ragnarr intoned ominously. "Did you not hear me?"

"I did, Father."

"So then, answer me. Are you as good at this game as your sister claims you are?"

The young prince steeled himself and took a chance. "I do not know, Father. I've only ever had the one opponent against whom I could measure myself, so I cannot say how I might fare against another."

"Oh, is that so? Well, in that case..."

The grin that formed on the king's face would not have looked out of place on a rabid animal.

"...you can play me."

Rose's eyes bulged. The muscles in Agdar's face tightened. Before either could offer more by way of a response, however, Ragnarr's hand shot out toward the table. It latched on to the game board and yanked it savagely into the air. Chessmen flew in every direction, falling to the floor in a clatter. But before the last pawn had rolled to a stop, the king ended the game in the most decisive manner possible.

He snapped the board in two across his knee.

Holding the pieces up on either side of his head, he pushed his face right up to Agdar's. They were so close to each other that the boy could feel his father's hot breath buffeting his eyelashes.

"I win," Ragnarr snarled.

The tears were already warping her voice when Primrose spoke into the silence. "That..." she breathed. "That was Mother's!"

Agdar watched the expression of malicious victory melt off the king's face. The man slowly straightened, and only then finally turned to face his daughter. The look of pained hatred he saw there precluded any need to ask whether or not she was telling the truth. He looked down at the pieces of splintered board he held in his hands, then back at the princess.

For a moment, for the briefest of moments, Agdar saw the humanity that still lay deeply buried within his father. It was, in its own way, even more terrible to behold than the king's most violent rages.

The comparison proved all too easy to make. The next second, Ragnarr had rounded on his son yet again. "See what you made me do?" he bellowed. "Are you proud of yourself now, huh? Is this what you wanted? Is it? Do you see what you made me do!" Flecks of spittle landed on Agdar's face from the force of his father's anger.

"He didn't make you do anything!" Rose shouted, standing up at last and storming around the table to try to squeeze in front of her little brother. "You did this yourself! It was all you! Don't you dare blame him for this. Don't you dare..."

The open-handed blow hit her so hard across her face, it nearly spun her to the floor. As it was, she only remained on her feet because Agdar finally broke from his ramrod straight pose to catch her and support her. They both looked up at the king, their father, who towered over them, his nostrils flaring.

"You will never speak to me like that again," he commanded. His voice was shaking, but for once, Agdar could not be sure if was from rage. There was a look of shocked surprise in the man's eyes which seemed to suggest that even he could not believe what he had just done.

The princess straightened. She refused to show the weakness of raising a hand to cover the bright red mark that marred half of her face. Instead, she just stared at her father with a cold fury. "I don't expect that will be a problem," she replied through gritted teeth, "for I don't think that I shall ever speak to you again."

So saying, she wrapped one arm around her brother's shoulders. "Come, Agdar. We're leaving." The two began to walk slowly toward the open parlor door. They had just reached the threshold when their father found his voice once again.

"You had better not walk away from me, boy!" the king demanded. "You come back here right now, or so help me, I'll..."

Rose paid him no attention and continued her exit. She could not help but notice, however, that his order had somehow not included her. In fact, that small distinction immediately became completely impossible to ignore. Agdar had come to a halt all on his own.

Brother and sister turned to look at each other. "No," Rose whispered. "Please, Agdar. Come with me."

But his eyes were not looking into hers. They were instead focused on the swelling red welt left by their father's hand. Slowly, he lifted her arm off his shoulders, then took a single step away from her – a single step back toward Ragnarr.

There was a determination and a sense of purpose in his eyes at that moment that she had never seen there before. They spoke the words that he could not bring himself to say in front of this man, this monster who had sired them both.

_It's my turn to protect you now, Prim._

She opened her mouth once more, but before she could even begin to form another protest, he was closing the door between them. She just barely had time to notice that, in the clenched fingers of his right hand, Agdar still held tightly to the little figure of the white queen.

Princess Primrose sagged heavily against the wooden barrier that now cut her off from the rest of her family. She wanted to run away. She did not want to hear what she knew was about to transpire on the other side of that door. Nevertheless, she would not leave. She had to stay. The least she could do was bear silent witness to the bravest deed of her brother's young life.

_My sweet, sweet Agdar,_ she thought as she tried in vain to somehow transmit some of her strength directly from her body to his. _How can you possibly imagine that you will not one day become a great king?_

• • •

King Agdar was looking down at his hands as he brought his tale to a close. Without even realizing it, he had been rubbing his thumb back and forth against the side of his index finger, unconsciously recreating the phantom sensation of a chess piece rolling back and forth between the two digits. He'd lost himself so completely in those memories that he'd barely been aware of his own small actions, let alone the room around him.

So he was painfully startled when he looked up at the sound of a sniffle. Elsa was looking back at him, and tears were running down her cheeks.

"Oh, princess, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry." Once again, Agdar felt like a complete fool. What had he been thinking, telling his daughter about such a horrible thing as that? He'd only meant to describe the chess game with Prim and his own childhood uncertainties about his worthiness to the crown. How could he have allowed himself to get so swept up in the past that he'd kept talking well past the point where a sensible man would have stopped? Now, he'd brought his own daughter to tears. He truly was hopeless.

"How could someone do that to their child?" she whispered. "That's... that's inhuman."

Agdar nodded, seizing on a chance to maybe make something useful out of his blunder. "This is what I've been trying to make you understand, Elsa. You called yourself a monster, but I've seen what a monster truly looks like. I've seen him sitting on the throne of this very kingdom.

"You are so far from him that I can't even begin to find the words. You are a kind, caring, wonderful young woman, Elsa. You are compassionate. You are generous. You are loving and warm and..."

She flinched at his choice of words.

"..._warm_," he said again, stressing the word this time, "and beautiful. And I can only assume that I have your mother to thank for all that, because I certainly couldn't have been much of a role model."

"Don't say that, Papa!" Elsa insisted. "I've learned so much from you, and I'm learning more every day. You've taught me nobility and humility and courage and conviction."

_I've also taught you to fear and distrust yourself,_ Agdar thought. _Somehow, I still don't think the balance sheet tallies out in my favor._

"The point is, Elsa, that Arendelle has weathered rulers whom I'm ashamed to even call human. But I am so very proud of you, and I simply cannot imagine anything you could possibly do that would even come close to someone like my father. I don't believe for an instant that you have that kind of evil in you."

An image flashed into Elsa's mind at those words: a black-haired version of herself with a perpetual smirk and a trickster's tongue. She shuddered.

"Elsa?" her father asked with concern.

"I don't know," she said. "I know it's not the answer you wanted, but it's the best I can give you. I just don't know whether or not I want to be Queen. There are too many other things all tangled up with it to be able to make sense of it all. I... I just..." She broke off, struggling to find the words.

"It's alright, sweetheart," Agdar assured her. "You don't need to..."

"I _want _to want it," she blurted out. "Does that make any sense? I don't want to not be Queen, but I'm still too scared to want it either. What I really want is to stop being so afraid. If I could just do that, then... I don't know. Maybe then I could..." Again, she trailed off, feeling like she had utterly failed to get across an idea that hadn't even been entirely clear in her own head. She sighed.

"I understand."

Her father's calm and steady voice surprised her. There was no confusion in it, no note of puzzlement. The tone with which he spoke conveyed exactly the same message as the words he had said: understanding.

"That's all the answer I need," he continued with the same considered inflection. "You can't move forward until you know where you stand. Now we know, and that's a beginning. Where we go from here... Well, I'm honestly still not sure. But I'd like to think that perhaps we can figure that out together. Maybe there's a path through this that none of us has been able discover on our own. Maybe it takes two to find it. Or three, or four. Who knows, it might take the entire kingdom! But whatever it takes, I'm ready to try it if you are.

"It's entirely up to you, though. Are you willing to come along with me? I can't promise that it will be an easy road. All I can promise is that I will be with you every step of the way."

She stared at him wide-eyed, her earlier tears completely forgotten. She could feel herself trembling, but she couldn't be sure of the reason why. She wasn't even certain that she completely grasped what he was asking of her. She did know that, whatever it was, the idea scared her more than a little. And yet, she was not so far gone that she could fail to recognize hope when it was offered to her.

"I'm not quite ready for the entire kingdom, Father," she answered quietly. "But..."

Princess Elsa drew in a deep breath, then looked her father squarely in the eye.

She nodded.


	6. Gifts of Royal Women

There were many reasons why Elsa might have failed to notice the first knock upon her door.

Partly, she might have been distracted by her music box as it played out its familiar melody from its usual place beside her on her desk. Partly, she'd been given no reason to expect any visitors at this particular moment. Mostly, however, she had simply allowed herself to become completely lost within the pages of the book that lay open upon her desk.

She hadn't let herself do that in such a very long time. There had been so many distractions that always seemed to conspire to pull her out of that lovely state of escape, or to keep her from even getting into it in the first place. First, there had been her worries for Anna when Marie had left. Then for a long time, she had gotten completely caught up in experimenting with her powers. During those heady days, it seemed like she had always been thinking about what she ought to try next, which made it hard to fully immerse herself in a story well told.

And after that had come the fear, the guilt, and the self doubt.

Those weren't gone, of course. They had been her constant companions for nearly five years, after all. They were, however, quieter presences in her mind now than they had been at any time since that day when her powers had spiraled beyond her control.

It is a truly strange thing the way the mind defines aloneness. Elsa remained every bit as isolated in her room as she ever had been. Only her mother and father ever entered. Only her sister ever came to the door for more than a passing moment. And yet, something had changed. It was subtle and simple and ever so very small.

But it was also everything. Because as the princess had listened to her father's tales of his own troubled childhood, she realized that she was not alone in her pain and fear. There was at least one other member of this peculiar fellowship. One other person who knew what it was like to grow up in near constant fear of saying or doing the wrong thing. One other person who had felt the need to protect those he loved from a power beyond his control.

How remarkable then that this person should have been so close her entire life without her ever knowing. How amazing that he should be standing outside her door at that very moment.

"Elsa?" Another knock followed, but it was the voice that pulled the princess back to the here and now.

"Just a moment, Father." She hurried over to the entrance, undid the latch, and swung the door open. The king then entered her room... sideways.

"Good morning, Elsa," he said brightly.

"Good... morning?" His peculiar behavior had thrown her off balance for a moment, until she realized why he had sidled in in such an odd manner. The king was conspicuously keeping both hands behind his back, and his body between her and whatever he must be holding. She looked up at his face and raised her eyebrows.

Agdar didn't seem quite ready to divulge his little secret just yet. Both literally and figuratively, he sidestepped around her as he made his way further into the room. "Lovely day, isn't it?" he asked with an all-too-casual glance out the window. Elsa just nodded as she pushed the door closed once again. She kept watching her father closely while she tried to guess what exactly he might be up to.

With an awkward shuffle, the king made his way over to her desk and bent forward slightly to peer at the open book. "Good read?" he asked, though it could not have been plainer that the query was only made as a show of polite interest.

"I'm enjoying it," Elsa answered as she walked back to stand opposite him. She looked up at him curiously. "Father?"

"I, um, have a surprise for you," he said.

Elsa couldn't help but smile at both the obviousness of this statement as well as at her father's atypically nervous delivery. "Oh?" she asked, fully aware that her attempt to feign surprise was just about as convincing as the king's attempts at nonchalance.

"Yes, well... That is, I don't know if you'll like it or not. But I thought that, if you did, then maybe I... that is, we... maybe we could..." The princess could not recall ever seeing her father this flustered before. It was really quite charming, in a way.

"I'm sure I'll love it, Father," she assured him. The king grinned with relief. Elsa continued to look at him, patiently waiting. Then she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially.

"What is it?"

Agdar looked confused for a second before realizing that both of his hands were still concealed behind his back. He began to pull his right arm out of hiding, then seemed to change his mind and started moving his left arm instead. A sudden look of mild consternation settled onto his face as he struggled to make up his mind. Elsa was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her own face straight, as her small smile began to slowly grow at the corners.

At last, the king rolled his eyes, shook his head, and finally brought both hands around at the same time. He beamed at his daughter with pride and excitement. The grin faltered, however, when she looked back at him in clear befuddlement. Looking down, he immediately realized the reason for her perplexity, and he felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Flipping the board right-side-up, he set it down on the desk between them. At last, he was rewarded with a look of dawning comprehension in Elsa's eyes.

"Is that... a chessboard?" The return of her father's grin was answer enough. "Then that must be..." She looked at the box still grasped in his other hand. He held it out to her, nodding encouragingly. Hesitantly, she reached out and lifted it gingerly from his fingers, then carefully opened it. Arranged neatly within were thirty-two finely crafted black and white playing pieces.

"When did you get these?" she asked in surprise. Her eyes darted back and forth between the open box and the checkered game board before finally rising up to meet his gaze.

"Oh, when I was about fifteen years old," he replied, unable to dispel his broad smile. "Though I suppose you could argue that I'd at least shared ownership of the pieces for about ten years before that."

Elsa immediately set the box down upon the table. The value of its contents had suddenly become far too high for her comfort. Her father, however, immediately picked it back up and began fishing pieces out one by one. As Elsa watched, the initial ranks began filing into their assigned squares.

"I'm rather ashamed to admit it," he was saying, "but I'd somehow managed to misplace the board. I started looking for this old set weeks ago, after it first came up during our conversations. I found the pieces easily enough, but the board wasn't with them. I'll admit, I panicked a little. Well, more than a little, to be perfectly honest. I never would have forgiven myself if I'd lost it, and for a while, I was convinced that I had.

"It was just lucky that I mentioned it to your mother one night as we were getting ready for bed. I'd about given up on ever finding it again. But the next morning, she walked into my study just as Kai and I were preparing for the day. She came over to my desk, set down the board, smiled, and walked out without saying a word. I still haven't been able to get her to tell me where she found it, but I have yet another reason to bless the day that I met her.

"Of course, I've barely played in years," he continued, his enthusiasm more than evident as he spoke. "I tried a few times to get your mother interested, but that never really worked out. Kai will play now and then, but only if I practically order him to. Sometimes, I could talk one of the foreign ambassadors into a game, but I'm pretty sure they only indulged me in hopes of getting on my good side during negotiations. Either that or they are all to a man supremely inept players, because I always won far too easily.

"Anyway, I haven't been able to find anyone who'll play me just for the love of the game. Not that I want to pressure you or anything, of course. If you don't enjoy it either, I'll understand, truly. It's just that, after all our talk of the game lately... Well, I thought that, you know, maybe you might."

By this point, the board was completely set, and her father was looking at her with a light of eager anticipation in his eyes. Elsa, however, was still staring at the pieces as if they were fabled creatures from a child's bedtime story suddenly and inexplicably brought to life. Quietly, she stretched out a single finger and ran it lightly across the middle of the board, directly between the opposing ranks, as if to confirm to her other senses that it was indeed real. Only then did she look up at her father again.

"But you said that your father..." She didn't dare to finish the thought, because she did not want to be responsible for bringing back such a painful memory. Still, the obvious contradiction that stood in front of her demanded an explanation.

"Oh, this isn't that board," Agdar quickly explained with a wave of his hand. It seemed clear that he was not keen to dwell on that incident again either. "I received this one as a gift many years later."

"From whom?" Elsa asked.

• • •

Agdar waited nervously by the window in the little parlor. Not that anyone who might have accidentally stumbled into the room would have had any clue as to his agitation. After years of constant practice, concealing his emotions was now completely second nature to him. In all of Arendelle, there was only one person who still was sometimes able to tell what he was truly feeling.

"Hello, Agdar."

The prince turned at the sound of the voice and gifted the speaker with a smile that was calculated to be as genuine as possible. The incongruity of that notion had ceased to bother him many years ago now. Besides, he knew that she understood that he meant for it to be real, and that she also understood why this was as close as he was able to come these days.

"Hello, Prim," he replied. That nickname, carried over from their childhood, was perhaps the one concession to sentiment that Agdar still allowed himself.

Primrose smiled back at him, and there was not the slightest hint of anything less than genuine emotion in her expression. She hid nothing from him, not even the touch of sadness in her eyes. Somehow, on her face, the sorrow and the smile did not seem out of place together.

"Well, this is it, little brother," she said with a resigned cheerfulness. "Our last few hours together. It's hard to believe, isn't it?"

But Agdar shook his head. "The only thing that's hard to believe is that you waited this long to leave. And don't think for a second that I don't know exactly why you've put it off for so many years. I've lost track of the number of suitors you've politely sent on their away."

"I was waiting for the right one," the princess said with a touch of offended hauteur.

"You were waiting until you thought I was finally ready to look after myself," he corrected her. "Or maybe until you thought that you simply couldn't put it off any longer. You and I both know that you've been the talk of all the royal courts for years now. It is a bit unusual for a princess to be twenty-one years old and not yet betrothed, after all."

"It isn't _that_ unusual," she sniffed, "or it shouldn't be. Besides, I see nothing wrong with being a little choosy when it comes to selecting the person with whom you intend to spend the rest of your life. After all," and her smile turned quite impish, "I had to make sure he was worthy of my indescribable charms, didn't I?"

That earned her one of Agdar's ever rarer chuckles. "Oh, I can think of one or two words to describe them," he retorted. But then he smiled, and for once, it wasn't calculated at all. "And I am truly happy for you, Prim. Whatever your reasons, I'm glad you waited. Not for my own sake, mind you, but only because I really cannot remember the last time I saw you this happy. Corona's Crown Prince must be a truly remarkable man."

"No," Primrose shook her head. "But he is a good man, and an honest one. Among all those who tried to court me, he was the only one who never made me feel like I was talking to a mask, wondering what I'd find underneath when the mask came off. Then again, given all the politics and lies that make up most royal courts these days, I suppose a man like that in a position to ascend to the throne really is rather remarkable."

Agdar nodded, suddenly feeling conspicuously aware of the mask that he himself had been forced by necessity to show to the rest of the world.

His sister's eyes narrowed for a moment as she zeroed in on the minute changes in his face that no one else had ever bothered to learn how to interpret. He didn't mind that she could still read him so well. It wasn't like he was ever trying to hide anything from her, after all. Rather, he'd simply forgotten somewhere along the way how to take the mask off, even in private.

"Oh, Agdar," she said as the pieces finally fell into place. "You know I don't include you in their number. They pretend to be somebody they're not in order to get what they want. You..."

"...pretend to be nobody at all in order to not get what I don't want." He said it with a smile, but it was once again one that he'd carefully chosen in order to hide the true sting behind his own words.

Primrose stood a step forward and reached up to lay her hand against her brother's cheek. Now fifteen years old, Agdar had achieved most of his man's height. Though he would never be as big as their father, he was nevertheless a tall man. Right now, however, he still remained somewhat gawky as his body struggled to adjust to its new dimensions.

"You are a good man too, Agdar," Rose assured him. "Heaven only knows how you've managed to remain so after everything you've been through. I only hope that one day, you will find someone who can make you just as happy as I am. Someone with whom you can finally take off your mask and be yourself once again."

The prince gazed into his sister's eyes for a very long time, trying and failing to find the words for all the things that he wanted to say to her. In the end, though, he simply turned his head, cleared his throat, and said, "I got you a present."

Rose ducked around to the side, placing herself directly in his field of view again. She smiled brightly at him. "I like presents." The corners of his mouth rose slightly. Then he stepped around her and picked up a small flat box from the little table in the middle of the room. Turning, he held it out toward her.

She looked at it, up at him, and then back at the box. Then, as she reached out for it, Agdar removed the lid.

Primrose gasped. "Agdar!"

Inside the box, resting on a velvet cloth, was a beautiful necklace. Tiny golden beads alternated with perfect white pearls, with an additional golden bead hanging off the outer edge of each pearl. From the center pearl hung a large, pale pink, teardrop-shaped jewel. Smaller sister jewels also dangled to either side of it.

"I looked for the longest time for the perfect piece for you," the prince explained. "There were many that were far more expensive and extravagant, but I just could never see you wearing them. Besides, a woman as lovely as you should never be overshadowed by her jewelry. This one just seemed to fit somehow. Simple, elegant, beautiful. Just like you, Prim."

His sister looked up at him again, but much as he had earlier, she found herself at a complete loss for words. Instead, she reached back, pulled her long brown hair to one side, and turned around. She felt Agdar slip the string of white and gold spheres around her neck, felt the jewels come to rest upon her breast bone, felt the tiny jerk as the clasp clicked into place. As she turned back to face her brother, her hand came up to lightly brush the main gemstone.

"I wish I'd thought to bring a mirror," Agdar continued, "so you could see how you look in it and let me know if you like it. Of course, if you don't, I'll understand. I've never bought anything like this before, so I might have gotten it completely wrong. And you've never worn much jewelry either, so I didn't know what you liked. I just tried my best and..."

He stopped talking when he suddenly found himself enveloped in Primrose's embrace. He would have happily returned it, if not for the fact that she had quite thoroughly pinned his arms to his sides and was hugging him much too tightly for him to wiggle free.

"For such a quiet young man," she said, her voice muffled against his chest, "you really need to learn when to shut up."

After a minute, when she pulled away and smiled up at him, her eyes were sparkling. "Thank you, Agdar. It's beautiful. It's perfect. I love it. Whenever I wear it, I will always think of you. And I shall always wear it."

Agdar swallowed thickly, and Primrose saw that his mask had, for the moment, disappeared. Seeing such a rare opportunity, she knew she had to move quickly before it slipped away. "There's actually a reason why I asked you to meet me here this morning," she said in a flurry of words. "You see, I'm not the only one who's going to be getting a present today."

Her brother looked momentarily confused. "Um, I might be wrong, but isn't it traditional for the bride-to-be to receive gifts, not give them?"

She slapped him playfully on his chest. "But it's not a wedding present, silly. It's a going away present."

"I'm still confused. Aren't those also usually given to the one going away?"

"Remember what I just said about learning when to shut up?"

Agdar opened his mouth, thought better of it, and finally decided to take his sister's advice.

Smiling, she hurried across the floor, then bent down and opened the doors to the same cabinet that she had explored when she'd first brought him to this room ten years earlier. When she straightened again and turned around, she was holding two neatly wrapped parcels, which she carried over and set down on the table near her brother.

Then she stepped back and, eyes still gleaming, gestured impatiently. "Well, aren't you going to open them?"

The prince eyed his sister warily. He hadn't seem Prim so obviously excited for a very long time. Yet here she was, practically giddy. It was a little strange, and yet also quite wonderful. It reminded him of a much younger girl he had once chased helter-skelter through the palace hallways.

He picked up the smaller of the two packages and pulled off the brightly colored paper that enveloped it. A moment later, he was holding a very familiar box in his hands, though one he had not seen for nearly six years. Reverently, he opened it and looked inside.

"I've been keeping them in my room all this time," Primrose said by way of an explanation. "I sneaked back in later that day, as soon as the room was empty. I couldn't bear the thought of just abandoning them, even though I knew we might never have a chance to play again. So I gathered them all up and I kept them safe. Well, all except one, that is."

Agdar looked dumbly back at her for a moment. Then, without any conscious thought on his part, his right hand slipped automatically into his trouser pocket. His sister smiled.

"I know that you always keep it with you," she said. "I've seen you fumbling with it in your pocket sometimes when Father is on one of his tirades. I've even caught you now and again, when you thought nobody was looking, taking it out and rolling it back and forth like you once did. It's rather sweet."

He almost blurted out that he always kept it with him because, in his mind, it would forever be a part of his big sister. He almost admitted that he found himself able to draw nearly the same strength from it that he had so often borrowed from her. He almost told her how it served as a constant reminder of the unspoken promise he'd made on that day to shield her from the worst of their father's wrath. He almost said all of this.

And then he realized that he didn't need to. The look on Primrose's face made it clear that she already understood all of that and more.

At last, he managed to return her smile, even if his was now somewhat shaky. "Thank you, Prim. It's a wonderful gift. I can't think of anything I'd have rather had. I only wish we could have played once again before..."

He stopped as his sister's smile drew inward, so that her cheeks dimpled in amusement. Her eyes darted down to the other package that still stood unwrapped upon the table.

Agdar set the box down quickly, for fear that he might suddenly drop it otherwise. He reached out towards his second present. He stopped abruptly, however, as he watched his sister walk slowly around to the other side of the table, pull out the chair, and fold herself gracefully into it. Then she leaned forward, placed her elbows on the tabletop, rested her chin atop her intertwined fingers, and looked up at him expectantly.

Under her intent gaze, the prince forced himself to regain his composure. Following her lead, he pulled out his own chair and sat down as well. Then he picked up the parcel and examined the folds of its wrappings for a second. Suddenly, with a single deft move of his hand, the paper was gone and the contents it had been concealing were revealed.

It was probably fortunate that he was already sitting. Even so, the chessboard wobbled precariously in his hands as the shock struck him. In the next instant, Prim's hands had come up to balance her side of the board. Together, they lowered it to the table between them.

"It... it can't be," he finally stammered out as his eyes seemed to trace every single line of grain in the wood.

"It isn't," she said somewhat apologetically. "The original was too badly damaged. But I managed to salvage those broken pieces too. Eventually, with a bit of work, I was able to make out the original craftsman's name that had been carved into the underside. It took quite a while, and a great many letters, but I was finally able to track him down. I described the set to him, and even sent him the broken bits to be certain. So no, this isn't Mother's. However, I suppose you could say it's that board's brother."

"No," Agdar shook his head and finally looked across at Primrose again. "Sister. Definitely sister."

Only in his own head did he add, _After all, this one's still unbroken._ He was relieved to see that, for once, Prim failed to read that thought off of his expression. She only smiled.

"Shall we?" she asked. "We still have some time yet before I have to be down at the docks."

She didn't have to offer twice. Both of Adgar's hands darted between box and board, so that in no time at all, both players' ranks were nearly complete. Only one conspicuous opening remained.

The prince reached once again into his pocket. This time when his hand reappeared, it brought with it a small white figure. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he extended it toward his sister with a minor flourish. Smiling with delight, she reached out a hand of her own.

But she did not take the piece. Instead, she pushed it gently down between his fingers so that he was now grasping it by the top instead of the base. Only then did she herself take hold, allowing her own fingers to slip in between his.

Together, they maneuvered the white queen to her rightful spot on the game board, to the place she had waited patiently for six long years to finally visit again.

It was not one of their more intense games. They spent too much time talking, reminiscing about the good times they had shared together, and (mostly) managing to forget about the bad for at least a few short hours. And they were, sadly, all too short. It felt like they'd only just sat down to their game when the knock came at the door. Agdar stiffened in alarm before slowly realizing that, if it were their father outside in the passageway, he would not have bothered with such pleasantries as knocking.

"Princess Primrose, are you there?"

Giving her brother a regretful smile, she rose and crossed to the door. Opening it, she found herself face to face with a slightly nervous member of the palace staff. The man appeared to be in his early thirties, with a prominent nose and auburn hair that was just beginning to recede. Descending into a bow, he spoke again.

"Your Highness, it is nearly time. You must be getting ready for your departure."

Rose sighed. Even if she'd been given as many as she might have wished for, she knew that these last pleasant hours with her brother could not help but end far too soon.

"Thank you... Kai, is it? All of my things are already packed. If you would be so good as to have someone fetch them from my room, I'll be down in just a few minutes."

"Your luggage has already been collected and awaits you in the entrance hall," he declared. Then, his agitation growing slightly more pronounced, he added, "As does the king."

The princess couldn't help but take pity on the poor man. To send him back down to her father alone, his errand incomplete, would be much too cruel. "Very well," she said. "Just... wait right here then. I'll only be a minute, I promise."

The messenger bowed again, an expression of grateful relief clearly visible upon his face. Primrose gave him a quick smile, then ducked back into the room and closed the door behind her.

Agdar had already risen to his feet, but was shaking his head in bewilderment. "I still don't know how you can remember the names of every single person on the staff like that."

"I work very hard at it," she explained as she walked back over to him and absentmindedly flattened his lapels. "It may seem like a little thing, but those are often the ones that matter most. After all, when do you ever see Father calling..."

She broke off, inwardly berating herself for dragging that monster into the last few moments she would get to share with her brother for who knew how long. The damage having already been done, however, she couldn't resist one last opportunity to berate the man. "I still can't believe he won't let you come with us to the wedding."

"Of course you can," Agdar responded. "It would have been more surprising if he had let me come along. But I don't want you to worry about me, okay? I mean it. It's going to be your day, Prim, and I want you to be happy. I want you to shine like the sun. I want you to show all of Corona how utterly radiant you are. I want them to see that their next queen will be the kindest, noblest, most beautiful that their kingdom has ever known.

"And they will cheer, and they will sing, and they will call you, 'Queen Primrose the Great.'"

The smile that he gave her then nearly melted her heart.

"Agdar, I don't want to go!"

"Yes, you do," he assured her. "I want you to go too. Not that I won't miss you, of course. I will, terribly, every single day. But I'll sleep better knowing that you're safely beyond the reach of... Well, that you're safe. And that you'll be starting a family where love isn't a stranger. Knowing that, I think that I just might be able to find hope that someday, maybe I can do the same."

She looked up at him, and her eyes were wet with tears. Then she quickly stepped past him, reached out to the table, and returned a moment later to press something firmly into his hand. He didn't even need to look to know what it was.

"I love you, little brother," she managed to say.

"I love you too, Prim."

Then she flung herself upon him, wrapping her arms tightly around his chest. This time, however, he was ready, and his own arms drew her in even closer. If he could have, Agdar would have happily willed that bright moment to last forever.

They didn't break apart until another knock came at the door. "Your Highness?" Kai asked, his nerves clearly getting the better of him.

Primrose finally pulled away from Agdar and began wiping the tears out of her eyes. "You are coming down to see us off, aren't you?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied.

Their parting upon the docks was brief. The princess's tears were lessened, and they were offset by a fond smile. The two spoke little, having already said everything that needed saying. Still, Agdar barely even noticed their father's ever present scowl of disapproval as the king walked up the gangplank, for his eyes never left his sister's face. He walked along the pier, arm raised in farewell, as the ship moved slowly out of the harbor. Prim stood at the gunwale, waving back and blowing him kisses upon the balmy sea air.

Only after the boat had passed well beyond the lighthouse walls, completely hiding his sister from view, did Agdar slump heavily down onto the cobblestones. He let his feet dangle over the edge of the stonework wall and leaned sideways against one of the wrought iron posts that lined the edge of the wharf.

Only then did the Prince of Arendelle silently let his own tears fall.

• • •

Elsa stared at the board on the desk between them and shook her head.

"I... I can't. There's no way I could possibly... This set just means too much. There's too much history here. Too many memories, and... and..."

Agdar nodded. "Yes, you're right. It is very special to me. The playing pieces from my mother. The board from my sister..."

He bent down low, so that his chin was almost resting on the tabletop. At that angle, he was just able to catch Elsa's eye.

"In fact, the only thing I can think of that would make it even more special would be playing a game on it with my daughter."

Her eyes grew wide. "But... I don't even know how to play!"

"Well, nobody does when they start out," he said with a smile. "Fortunately, I think I know a pretty good teacher who can help you with that particular problem. And while you're learning, I think it's only fair that I take on a suitable handicap. So..."

He made a show of examining the board, seeming to weigh the various options in his mind. Then, having apparently come to a decision, he reached out and removed a single piece from the ranks directly in front of him. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he extended it toward his daughter with a minor flourish.

Elsa gaped at her father. Then, not quite able to keep her fingers from trembling just a little, she took the proffered piece. Cradling it delicately in the palm of her hand, she stared at it in wonder. The little bit of white nearly disappeared against the backdrop of her own white glove. Despite herself, she couldn't help but think that something so important ought to weigh far more than it actually did.

"Queen odds," her father declared.

* * *

**A/N: I still have ideas for other elements of Agdar's history that I hope to explore eventually. But like some of my readers, I'm also missing Anna and the rest of the cast. Besides, I think it's time to lighten the mood a little. So expect the return of our favorite pigtailed princess in the next chapter.**


	7. A Friend Worth a Thousand Words

Anna had grown tall enough now that she no longer needed to climb up onto the parapet of the tallest tower in order to watch the tall ships as they sailed across the waters of the fjord. Just because she didn't have to, however, didn't change the fact that she still liked to. She enjoyed the little thrill she got when she looked straight down the steep tower walls to the rocky island shore far below. It was like looking down from the highest branches of the tallest tree in the garden, only with less work for an even greater reward.

On this morning, the warm sun on her face and the cool breeze off the water made for such a delightful contrast that she could just about convince herself that everything in her life was good and right and exactly as it ought to be. The weather was beautiful, there were boats aplenty of all sizes navigating the sparkling waters, and the cries of the seabirds carried so clearly that it almost sounded as if they were flocking right around her. It was truly a delightful day.

It was also just a little bit lonely.

As much as she loved the view from up here, she still found it difficult to keep her happiness wholly untainted by thoughts of her old ship-watching companion. This place had been one of her and Marie's favorite spots in the entire castle. They had wiled away many a happy hour upon this vantage point, watching the sweep of the majestic vessels as they hove into and out of the harbor. The two girls had spent those times talking about anything and everything. Sometimes, they'd even talked about nothing, just enjoying each other's quiet company.

Those times had always been rare, of course. Anna generally couldn't stand a silence left unfilled, at least not as long as she had anything to say about it. In fact, that might have been one of the hardest things she'd had to cope with this last year.

She had been woefully lost for weeks after Elsa had shut her out again. She had begged and bribed and cajoled at her sister's door, doing whatever she could think of to try to get through to Elsa. All to no avail, of course. She had tried to get her parents to explain to her what had happened, what she had done wrong to drive her sister away again. All she had received in return, however, were sad looks and repeated assurances that it was not in the slightest way her fault.

Fortunately, the younger of Arendelle's princesses was nothing if not resilient. Before that winter had fully broken, giving way to spring's golden sunlight and the riotous colors of the flowers in the royal gardens, she had made up her mind that continuing to mope about the castle wasn't doing her or anyone else any good.

Instead, she had done her level best to try and establish a new rhythm to fit this latest phase of her life. After all, hadn't she previously gone several years with barely a word from the other side of her sister's door? She hadn't given up on Elsa then, and her patience had eventually paid off. Well, she had decided once again that she wouldn't give up this time, either. She would continue to let Elsa know that she would always be there for her, in hopes that one day, her sister would be ready to admit that she needed Anna too.

And if this new rhythm also included occasional afternoons spent in the portrait gallery pouring her heart out to her friends in the paintings, so be it. Fortunately, they didn't judge. But even so, there was no substitute for someone with whom you could simply have an honest to goodness conversation now and then.

Which is why she felt certain that she would never forget the day when the portraits talked back.

• • •

Anna flopped down heavily onto her usual seat in the gallery and immediately closed her eyes. She was feeling thoroughly exhausted and more than a little disheartened. It had not been one of her better days. She sighed.

"It's me again, Joan," the princess announced in a tired sort of voice. "Hope I'm not bothering you. I just really need somebody to talk to. That is, if you aren't busy."

She wasn't crazy, of course. She knew perfectly well that she was only talking to a painting. Nevertheless, she'd been taught her manners well, and it helped make the conversation feel more real when she observed all the proper etiquette. Besides, she was certain that the day would eventually come when she would get to talk to actual, real live people again. Best to maintain all the right habits in preparation for that day.

"It started this morning when I overslept. Mother had to stop by on her way to Elsa's lessons just to get me up, and even then I was barely awake. I don't even remember getting dressed or eating breakfast. In fact, the first thing I remember clearly was sitting in my classroom watching Prof. Engelstad as he looked over the assignment I'd just turned in. I guess you could say that he was not impressed.

"So technically, I suppose it really started last night. I hadn't meant to put off my classwork that long, honest. I just forgot. I've been spending so much time in the library lately, trying to find good stories I can read to Elsa. Sometimes, it feels like I've looked through every book in there twice.

"And don't give me that look, Opal. I know perfectly well that it would take me years to get through all of our books. I only said that it felt that way."

Anna still hadn't opened her eyes, but she really didn't need to. She was perfectly familiar with the expression on the face of the woman in the turquoise dress. The artist had clearly intended her to look demure but a little aloof. Unfortunately, at least to Anna's eyes, the end result came across more like haughty disappointment. The princess always felt like she was being judged rather unfairly whenever she looked at that portrait. Today, even with her eyes closed, she could still picture the face quite clearly. It didn't help that she'd seen a very similar critical expression on her tutor's face that morning.

"So anyway, it was only after I'd finished reading to Elsa last night and was getting ready for bed that I realized that I'd completely forgotten about the assignment. I hurried up and did the best I could on such short notice. I stayed up for hours after I should have been in bed, trying to at least get something ready.

"Still, I knew that what I'd done wasn't very good. Obviously, Prof. Engelstad agreed. So now I have to do it all over again... and more to make up for such a poor first attempt.

"Well, after such an awful start to the day, I thought that I deserved a little diversion before I had to throw myself back into my studies. So after the midday meal, I decided to go down to the stables and take Adelen for a little ride around the courtyard. Something didn't seem right with him today, though. Even when I was trying to get the tack on him, he seemed out of sorts.

"When I actually led him out of the stables and climbed up into the saddle, he was just so skittish. It felt like he kept wanting to bolt on me, and I spent most of my time just holding him in check. I don't know what was wrong. You know I love him, and I guess maybe horses can have bad days too. It's just that sometimes, he seems to get spooked by the smallest of things. Half the time, I have no idea what it is that sets him off, but I can usually calm him down anyway. Not today, though. For whatever reason, he just did not want to be ridden. So much for my hopes of a little bit of fun.

"At that point, I finally gave up and went back to my room to see about making a start on my assignment. It was such slow going, though. I just couldn't concentrate, no matter how hard I tried. I worked on it for hours, but what I had to show for it was even worse than what I'd turned in the first time."

Anna yawned. The day had taken so much out of her already. Add that to the lack of sleep she'd started off with, and her body was now mistakenly interpreting her prone position as a sign that the time had come for a well-deserved nap. The memory of her mind numbing school work wasn't helping matters any either. Still, she wanted to at least finish telling her story before she just finally gave in.

"Even after all of that, though, I told myself that it hadn't been entirely for nothing. I mean, at least during all the time I'd spent in the library the day before, I had actually found what looked like a really good story to read to Elsa. And even though it wasn't even dinnertime yet, I decided to just go ahead, take the book to her room right then, and read it to her. I figured maybe that would help clear my head."

Anna lifted one arm and let it drop across her forehead in exasperation and exhaustion. "I was halfway through the story when I realized that I'd already read it to her a month ago. I don't know, I guess I probably should have just finished reading it anyway. It was a good story; maybe she wouldn't have minded hearing it a second time.

"But I didn't. Instead, I got all flustered and started apologizing and then just started rambling and... I don't even remember what I said. I just know that, after making a complete fool of myself, I basically ended up running away. Oh, I tried to cover it with silly laughter at my own expense, but I knew what it really felt like."

She stifled another yawn, then shook her head drowsily back and forth beneath her arm. "I guess maybe I shouldn't complain about Adelen after all. Apparently, I can get spooked just as easily by the stupidest of things. So what does that say about me?"

"That you're a perfectly normal girl who's doing her very best in a terribly difficult situation."

"I'm not sure normal is the right word for anybody in my family, me least of all."

There was a pause, and then, "Perhaps not. Then again, is normal really all that important? Most of the time, it's only a word that people misuse when what they really mean is, 'Just like me.' And maybe normal is needed, to a point. But then, if I had been normal, I would never have left my family's farm, never would have found my way to the royal court, never would have met the heir to the throne. Things would have turned out so very differently.

"My point is that normal isn't always enough. Normal doesn't make history. Normal doesn't change the world. If everyone were perfectly normal, then where would we get our bravest heroes and our greatest leaders, or our skilled craftspeople, or master poets and artists.

"Or beautiful little princesses who sometimes talk to paintings."

"Not beautiful," Anna mumbled sleepily. "M'just me."

"And why should that make you any less beautiful?"

It was the light touch of fingers upon her forehead that finally forced Anna's weary brain to acknowledge that perhaps something wasn't quite right with her situation. Slowly, she opened her bleary eyes and struggled for a moment to focus upon the portrait that continued to hang on the wall above her.

The young lady warrior had not apparently moved. She held the same pose she always did: looking back over her left shoulder, her sword held in her right hand and raised over her head. Yet even as her mind struggled to brush away the cobwebs, Anna would still have sworn she'd heard a woman's voice speaking to her. Had it just been the first whispers of a dream, or...?

"Joan?" Anna asked in a confused mixture of wonder and fear.

A light laugh from behind her caused her to tilt her head back, craning her neck for the source of the sound.

"I'm afraid not, sweetheart. It's only me."

"Mother!" Anna exclaimed. She sat up a little too quickly, and the room spun around her for a moment as her equilibrium tried to readjust to the sudden change in position. By the time she regained her bearings, the queen had taken a seat beside her on the settee.

"How long have you...? How much did you...?" The princess began to turn red as she slowly replayed the sleepy conversation in her head, and realized that the answer to both questions was, "Enough to realize that my daughter is talking to people who don't really exist." Her hands flew up to cover her mouth in embarrassment.

Ellinor only laughed again, wrapped an arm around her daughter's shoulders, and pulled her in close. "Oh, Anna, you needn't worry. I've known about you and your visits here for a long time now. I never said anything before because I never felt the need. If this helps you to cope with everything that's been going on in your life, then that's more than enough for me."

"But who else knows?" Anna asked. Despite her mother's reassurances, she still averted her eyes as though she'd been caught doing something wrong.

"Only your father, as far as I'm aware. But please believe me when I say that there is nothing about this for which you should feel ashamed. I didn't interrupt you today because I wanted to put a stop to it. You mustn't think that. I know these last few years haven't been easy for you. I wouldn't want to take away anything that helps keep your spirits up. I would no sooner forbid you from doing this than I would try to keep you away from Adelen."

The princess looked up at her mother. "Then why today? If you've known about it for so long, why did you only decide to say something about it now?"

Now it was the queen who turned away. Her gaze swept over the paintings on the far wall as she attempted to find a proper answer to that question somewhere within her own heart.

"Even though you're younger than your sister," she finally began, "you've always been the daring one, the fearless one. From the time you were old enough to walk, nothing ever seemed to scare you. You would take falls that had your father and me worried sick. But where most other children would have cried their heads off, you'd usually get right back up with little more than a sniffle. As often as not, you would be running off laughing a moment later as if nothing had ever happened.

"You may not believe this, but I think you actually taught Elsa a thing or two about courage back then. With you around, I watched her try things I'd never seen her do before."

Anna smiled as remembered those days. "She also kept me from doing the really crazy things I was always wanting to try. I'm sure she spared me any number of broken bones along the way. Besides, most of the time she could think up an even better way to have the same fun."

"Yes, between your spirit and her cleverness, we certainly had our hands full. When it came to getting into mischief, you two made quite the team."

Ellinor then winced inwardly as she saw how her innocent use of the past tense had suddenly wiped away her daughter's smile.

"That's been my problem, Anna," she said regretfully. "Too often, I've allowed myself to only remember the bold little girl who was never afraid to try anything. I've been worried about Elsa for so long, and I think I managed to convince myself that my other dear daughter was so strong that she would always bounce back, no matter what."

The queen shook her head. "You're worried that people might think you're a little odd just because you talk to portraits now and then. Honestly, my foolish behavior was far more deranged by any measure you'd care to use, especially since I'm old enough that I ought to know better.

"Because you see, what I let myself forget about your younger days were the times when you actually did cry. As I said, it was never when you scraped your knee or bumped your head or anything like that. That never fazed you in the slightest.

"You only ever seemed to get truly upset when you were left alone.

"Of course, between your father and I – and your sister and Gerda and all the rest of the staff – that was a truly rare occurrence. So perhaps I can be forgiven, at least a little, for having so much stronger memories of my little Anna the Brave.

"Still, that doesn't excuse all the times that I've let others be there for you even though I should have been the one holding your hand. I taught your sister her lessons for nearly four years, but I left you to your tutor and your nanny. I watched your father teach you swordplay and then horseback riding, and felt proud that I'd helped the two of you to grow closer. Except now, I can't help but wonder what have I ever taught you myself?"

At last, Ellinor turned to look at her daughter again. "I truly am happy that you've been able to confide in Joan and the rest of your friends in here, Anna. I only regret that you've had to.

"I know that we all need somebody we can talk to. I also know that you have brought some of your problems to me over the years, and I'm ever so glad that you've felt that you could. But I just want you to know that you can talk to me whenever you need or want to. I'd like you to feel that you can come to me with anything, no matter what it might be. Even if you think it's just silly, even if you feel embarrassed by it, that doesn't matter. I promise, I'll listen.

"But I'll also understand if there are some things that you'd rather keep to yourself and..." She raised her hand in a gesture that took in the entire gallery.

Anna's eyes had remained on her mother's face during this entire speech. She continued to look up at her now as the queen returned her gaze. For a little while, the two simply shared a silence. Then the princess leaned over and rested her head against her mother's chest.

"Does it ever feel to you like we all spend way too much time apologizing to one another?"

Ellinor laughed. "Oh, I don't know. I prefer an apology to a stubborn refusal to admit when we're wrong. But yes, it does seem like we've been needing to apologize more often than we should lately. Hopefully, that's something else we can try to change.

"You know, your father and I have been talking, and we both agreed that it would be a good idea for him to start teaching Elsa some of her lessons on a more regular basis. Now I want you to know that we didn't make that decision with just your sister in mind. This also means that I'll have more free time now too, and I'd very much like to spend some of it with you, if you wouldn't mind."

Anna smiled and snuggled in even closer against her mother's side. "I'd like that."

The queen bent her head and kissed the top of her daughter's strawberry blonde hair. "I'm glad."

Several extremely comfortable minutes passed before Ellinor spoke again. "You know, there actually was another reason I came looking for you just now."

"Oh?" Anna asked incuriously. She was really in no hurry to leave her mother's embrace, especially since it would be so easy and so very wonderful to just let herself fall asleep right there and then.

"It's dinnertime. Or it nearly was when I first came up. Gerda has probably set the table already by now. If not, then your father is probably just sitting there getting increasingly impatient... and hungry."

"Can't he wait a little longer?"

"Anna..."

The queen's remonstrance was interrupted by the gurgling sound of an empty stomach contemplating one of Gerda's excellent meals. Mother and daughter looked at each other in surprise, and then both began to laugh.

"Well, I suppose that settles that," Ellinor finally managed. "Shall we go then?"

They both stood. Anna quietly slipped her hand into her mother's and they both began walking toward the exit. As the queen held the door open for her daughter, however, Anna paused for a moment. Then she turned around and looked thoughtfully back at all the familiar faces hanging in all their familiar spots on the four familiar walls.

She did not say a word. But she did smile, and then she waved goodbye. Not forever, of course. For this moment, though, she had at least found someone else with whom she could talk.

Then she walked out into the hallway and her mother closed the door behind them.

As they began the walk to the dining room, Anna looked up at her mother again. "Um, I actually could use a little help with something at the moment. You know, if you have some time."

"Of course, sweetheart. What is it that you need?"

"Well, er... stories."

"Ah. For Elsa?" Anna nodded. Then it was the queen's turn to smile.

"I think we can manage that. What say you and I go to the library after dinner? I can already think of a few volumes that ought to have exactly what you need. And if you get through all of those, we can always order more."

• • •

A particularly strong gust grabbed at Anna's braids and pulled them out behind her. For a second or two, they flapped in the wind like the pennants atop the masts of the vessels she had been watching. She closed her eyes and breathed in the invigorating sea air. Even though this place might bring back bittersweet memories of her friend now far away, she still loved it with all her heart.

Then again, she loved all of Arendelle Castle. Every single inch of it held its own secret cache of moments gone by, a treasure trove that only she could unlock. Of course, it also served as the storehouse of such wealth for countless others who lived and worked within its walls. Still, it meant more to her than it probably did to most. After all, the castle and palace weren't just simple places to her. They were her home.

In fact, for most of her life so far, they had been her entire world.

How many memories did one make in a year? How many in ten? And when so many of those memories were limited to so small a space, how could it help but become a part of you, and you a part of it.

And then Anna thought of Elsa. For nearly five years, almost all of her memories would have been formed within the confines of her own little room. How many could a space that small possibly hold? If it filled up, would there still be room for her sister? Or would she and the room become so closely bound together that each would simply disappear into the other?

At that moment, the wind abruptly changed direction. Her braids, still caught in the air currents, swung around and slapped her playfully in the face. She spluttered for a moment, then laughed at herself. Who was she to be engaging in such high-minded thoughts? Better that she should stick to what she did best, whatever that might be, and leave the philosophy to the philosophers. After all, she was just Anna, a ten-year-old girl sitting alone high atop a castle tower, allowing her overactive imagination to run away with her.

"Hello, Anna. Sorry that I'm late. Your father had a few last minute things he wanted to discuss, but I got here as quickly as I could."

Well, now at least she wasn't _alone_ atop the tower. She turned and grinned at her newly arrived companion.

"That's okay, Mother. There are still plenty of magnificent ships out today. Come take a look!"

The queen stepped up to the wall beside her and, as usual, surreptitiously slipped her arm around her daughter's waist. Yes, it was a loving gesture of warmth and kindness, but it also had much to do with the fact that her mother still was not entirely comfortable with Anna's preferred seating position. As compromises went, this was one that suited them both nicely.

They began pointing out various vessels, trying to make out the flags or the names emblazoned across the hulls. There were a few which Ellinor recognized and actually knew why they were in port, but many were new and unknown to them both. For those, they enjoyed guessing what cargo might be on board or what adventures it had seen on its way across the ocean.

During a lull in the sea traffic, Anna looked back over her shoulder. With one sweeping glance, she took in the tan stone walls and green-topped spires of the castle, the angular gables and glinting triangular windows of the palace, the gardens below and her mother standing beside her.

_There's plenty of room here_, she thought to herself. _More than enough to hold entire lifetimes worth of memories. The most important thing is to try to make them good ones._

Having a friend by her side again was certainly a good start in that direction.


	8. Family Matters

"Lennart will be leaving us soon. Kai just informed me this morning."

"Lennart?" Ellinor's brush paused for a moment as she worked to place the name. "He's one of the groomers in the stables, isn't he?"

"Mm. Been with us for fifteen years now. Good man. Has a real knack with the horses. I hate to see him go."

The queen resumed brushing the tangles out of her long brown hair as she looked at her husband's reflection in her mirror. "I take it you couldn't convince him to stay then?"

"I didn't try. Well, I was going to. I invited the man up to the palace this afternoon for a short talk. That was when he told me that his father's health is beginning to fail. That's why he made the decision to return home to his family's farm, to help keep the place running. Well, I certainly can't fault him for putting his family first. So in the end, I just thanked him for his service, wished him the best of luck, and gifted him with a little extra money to help him get things in order back home."

Ellinor nodded. "I'm sure he appreciated the gesture."

Satisfied that her tresses were now properly sorted, the queen set her brush down atop her vanity. Then, with a concerned expression on her face, she turned around in her chair and addressed Agdar directly.

"You know, with all the reductions we made in the castle staff, I'm not sure we can afford to lose too many of those we have left."

The king made a noise of agreement. "Especially when it comes to the stables. They barely have enough men down there as it is. I don't mind if a few unused rooms in the palace gather a little extra dust for a time, but I don't want to see the horses neglected. I'll definitely need to replace Lennart, and quickly too."

"Well, couldn't we bring back one of the hands who used to work here?"

"That would be ideal. The problem, of course, is that five years have gone by now. They've all moved on to new jobs. Many have even gone off to look for work elsewhere."

"But surely there must be some still available."

"A few. Actually, Lennart recommended one to me in particular: a young man named Josef. Seems he was just a stable boy for us before we closed the castle gates. Apparently, he'd barely been here a year at the time, but he's since gone on to complete his apprenticeship. He's just turned eighteen and is looking for a position.

"According to Lennart, this young man has already earned himself quite a reputation as one of the best ostlers in town. He's even learned enough smithcraft to be able to capably shoe horses and do some basic repairs to the metalwork on the saddles, bridles, and such. I've asked Kai to make some inquiries, but it seems to me that, if this Josef would be interested, we would be lucky to have him."

"Yes, well, I think I should like to meet him myself first," Ellinor offered. "I find that you can never truly judge a man's character unless you've looked him in the eye."

"And sometimes not even then." This Agdar mumbled quietly to himself, his back turned to his wife, but he was not apparently so quiet as to completely hide the comment.

"What was that, dear?"

"I said we should invite him to visit the castle. Show him the stables, talk to him a little. That way, we'll get a chance to know him a bit better before we decide. We'll also be able to see how well the horses take to him."

"I think that sounds like an excellent idea," she agreed.

"Then it's settled. I'll have Kai make the necessary arrangements."

Agdar had already removed his formal dress coat and was stepping out of his trousers before he spoke again. "Anna certainly seemed to enjoy your afternoon together."

Ellinor smiled as she turned back the covers on the bed. It was true that their younger daughter had talked of little else during dinner. The queen had asked Gerda to prepare them a picnic lunch, and after Anna's morning lessons, the two had retreated into the gardens to eat out under the sun and the leaves. They had soon been joined by a small flock of geese, and mother and daughter had watched the birds busily plucking at blades of grass while they themselves enjoyed their own light meal.

When all the sandwiches had disappeared, they'd then gone for a pleasant stroll along the garden paths. Most of the plants were in full flower now, and the variety of colors and smells had been almost dizzying. At her mother's suggestion, Anna had selected a dozen or so of her favorites blooms. They were all now brightening the princess's chambers in a short vase upon her nightstand.

"Well, she wasn't alone," the queen admitted freely. "I hardly realized how long it had been since I'd just been able to take a few hours to enjoy myself like that. Sometimes, it feels like I've been worrying about one thing or another almost non-stop for five years now. It's good to be reminded now and again exactly what it is that we're trying to get back."

The little laugh that followed was a perfect reflection of the lightness in Ellinor's heart. "Honestly, I'm not at all sure whether I'm helping to cheer up Anna or if she's cheering me. Either way, though, I do believe this new arrangement is working out well for everyone. And while we're on the subject, how did Elsa's lessons go today?"

"Oh, fairly well, I think. I'm afraid that I may not have quite the same knack for teaching history that you do, however. You may have to give me a few pointers sometime, or I fear that one of these days I may bore our poor daughter to sleep."

The queen chuckled as she climbed into bed. "I suspect she'll manage to stay awake just fine, if only so she can make it through to your regular chess matches."

He nodded. "Yes, it's rather remarkable how quickly she's picking up on the nuances of the game. I've already had to cut my handicap down to a rook and a pawn, and I suspect I won't be giving up that pawn for very much longer. It never ceases to amaze me how sharp a mind she has."

"She takes after her father," Ellinor declared knowingly.

At those words, the king's face seemed to close in on itself. His proud smile, which had been growing steadily as he'd talked about his daughter's bright intelligence, suddenly evaporated. His eyebrows drew together and his lips pressed into a tight, thin line. He sat down heavily at the foot of the bed, his back once again to his wife.

Ellinor waited for a moment, anticipating an explanation for this sudden change of mood. Her husband, however, seemed to have forgotten that she was even there. When he showed no sign of returning to her any time soon, she finally decided that a gentle nudge was in order.

"Agdar, what is it?"

"Hmm?" He stirred slightly, but did not turn to face her. "Oh, nothing really. I was just thinking."

"About what?"

The king exhaled heavily. "My sister, actually. She's been on my mind a great deal of late. We haven't seen each other in far too long. Of course, it would have been difficult enough to get together if all we had to worry about was governing our respective kingdoms. But between Elsa's problems and the disappearance of their daughter before that..." He shrugged.

Ellinor leaned forward and peered closely at her husband's face. Even though he still did not look back, it seemed to her that more troubles were reflected in the lines around his eyes and in the set of his jaw than could be accounted for by his words. She followed his gaze down to where his hands rested upon his lap. His left thumb was sliding back and forth across his index finger with a sweep as regular and steady as that of a pendulum.

She slipped out from under the covers and moved around to sit beside him. Reaching across, she took his restless hand in hers and squeezed it. At last, he met her gaze and smiled a little.

"Sorry," he said. "It's just... Well, it's family, Ellinor. Hers and ours and everything all together. I don't understand why misfortune continues to plague this house. I know parenting is never easy, but it shouldn't be like this. And I just can't keep from feeling like it's somehow my fault."

"Agdar!" The queen was already preparing to tell him how foolish such thoughts were, but he continued before she could say more than that one word.

"It's almost as if there's a curse upon my family. There was a time when I never would have given any credence to such a superstitious notion. Even after Prim's illness was cured by a 'magic golden flower,' I was a skeptic. After all, there are so many plants and herbs with remarkable healing properties. Why shouldn't there be a rare flower that just happened to be exactly what was needed to save my sister's life, even after all other options had been exhausted?

"Then Elsa was born. And so shortly after my niece had vanished without a trace, of course I was overprotective. She was the most wonderful thing to come into my life since I'd met you, and just the thought of losing her the way Prim had lost her Rapunzel...

"Well, you remember how it was. We forgot all about the nursery and kept her cradle here in our room. I doted upon her shamelessly, and why not? She was beautiful and perfect. She was yours and mine. She represented the new beginning that I'd wanted for my family and my kingdom for so very long.

"And then the inexplicable began. Strange chills in the middle of summer. Wet spots in her bed that had to be thawed before they could be cleaned. Rational explanations were quickly strained to the breaking point. Then came that one spring day when we found her sitting in a corner, giggling happily to herself as she played with a little mound of snow. I'll never forget the shock I felt as I watched it growing right before my eyes."

Agdar scrubbed at his chin with his free hand. "At that point, I simply could not deny it any longer. There was such a thing as magic, and not just out there in the dark and hidden corners of the world. It was here, right here in my own house. Once you open the door to such an idea, of course, you suddenly find yourself questioning everything else you thought that you knew."

His shoulders rose and fell. "What if there is something about my family, Ellinor? I mean, if it was just Elsa, then I would never have even conceived of the idea. But it's not. What if, by marrying you and having children together, I've brought this... this evil down upon all of your heads as well?"

The queen did not know what to say.

It was painfully obvious that something should be said, needed to be said. She simply could not, for the life of her, think of what it might be. Every argument she had been preparing to make had been against Agdar's personal responsibility for their family's situation. But how could she argue against something as staggering as the notion of a curse passed down through the generations?

So instead, she leaned her head upon her husband's shoulder and, for a while, joined him in quiet thought.

"Does it matter?" she offered at last.

Agdar turned a look of dumbstruck disbelief upon her. "How can you ask that? How could it not matter if I have somehow brought such a bane down upon my wife and daughters?"

"Because," she explained calmly, "even if that were true – and I am not ready to accept that it is – would it change anything? What could we do about it that we aren't already doing? Would you know how to go about lifting such a curse? Do you know anybody else who could, or who could even tell us if such a thing existed?"

The king simply stared at her mutely for a moment. Then, with a weariness that stripped any bite of sarcasm from his words, he replied, "I really don't see how making me feel even more powerless is supposed to help, Ellinor."

In her head, she swore silently to herself, because she realized that he was right. Her argument had been ill-conceived at best. She'd been in such a hurry to ease his concerns that she clearly hadn't thought it through properly.

Seeing the half-haunted look that still lingered in his eyes, she shifted her approach ever so slightly.

"I know that it's hard, dear. I wish it wasn't, every bit as much as you do. But that's the point. I'm not saying that we're powerless. What I'm saying is that it's taking everything this family has to cope with the very real problems we actually know about. Can we please not make it more any difficult than it already is by calling down more imaginary troubles onto our shoulders? However we ended up here, this is where we are now and this is what we have to deal with."

Eventually, he nodded his agreement. Still, as he turned away from her, she could tell that he had not really let go of the suspicions that gnawed at him. He was merely agreeing with her because he did not wish to argue the point any further. Perhaps he was even regretting his decision to share his worries in the first place, and now hoped that he could simply take the entire burden back upon his own conscience.

Unable to restrain herself, she sighed in irritated exasperation.

"Honestly, Agdar! It's well past time that each and every one of us stopped trying to blame ourselves for every little thing that has ever gone wrong. Isn't that exactly the problem we're trying to get Elsa to move past now? How can you possibly hope to convince her to change when you're doing the _exact same thing!_"

Agdar stiffened as he took in her words. Ellinor watched as his eyes widened, smoothing the pinched skin between his brows. Some of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders as the truth of her statement rang clear.

Finally, it looked like she'd found a way to get through to him. It was about time, too. She'd had such a pleasant afternoon with Anna, and she really did not want to spoil such a lovely day with an all-out argument right before bedtime.

He turned back to her again, and she bolstered his changing mood with a smile.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I suppose I was being rather ridiculous, wasn't I?"

"Maybe just a little." She once again squeezed the hand that she still held in her own. "Then again, we've all had our moments, haven't we? None of us are going to get through this alone. It's like I said earlier, about Anna and myself. We all hold each other up. Tonight, it was my turn to help you. Tomorrow, it might be the other way round. Even Elsa was able to be there for Anna when it came right down to it.

"_That _is what you should think of when you think about family, Agdar."

In the king's mind, however, the ominous silhouette of his father loomed over him.

No! He had left that man behind years ago. He would not allow that shadow, however large it might be, to continue to cast its darkness over his world. Instead, he closed his eyes and willed other images to take its place.

Primrose, her face aglow as it had been when he'd traveled to visit her after she had written to announce her pregnancy.

Elsa, smiling her shy but self-satisfied little smile as she moved her knight and placed his king in check.

Anna grinning broadly, the way she still somehow managed to do so very often despite everything life had thrown her way.

And Ellinor, his beautiful Ellinor, looking at him as only she ever did.

He opened his eyes, and the image did not change.

Agdar leaned forward and kissed his wife lightly on the lips. "Thank you," he said as he straightened, "as always, for your continued efforts to keep me from making a total fool of myself."

She shrugged blithely. "Well, it is a full time job, but the perks do tend to make up for the long hours."

He laughed heartily at her wit. With that release, his remaining cares left him at last. He leaned back in for a second, decidedly longer kiss.

When they finally parted, Ellinor still kept her eyes gently closed. The sigh that issued from her this time carried with it the much more pleasant overtones of contented satisfaction.

"Now that's the sort of apology I wouldn't mind receiving more often," she declared with a smile.

"Well then, I suppose it's fortunate that I always seem to be apologizing for one thing or another."

"And if you ever run out," she said with a coquettish look on her face, "I'd be willing to forgive you for that, too."

This time, it was Agdar's turn to squeeze her hand as they both shared in the laughter. "Time for bed, I think," he admonished, "or I could find myself making amends all night."

"Oh, I'm sure there must be a few things I ought to atone for myself..."

He silenced her lips with one final quick kiss. "Now now, Ellinor. Weren't you just saying how we really must stop blaming ourselves all the time? I would hate to see you become a hypocrite on my account."

She batted her hand at him facetiously. Nevertheless, they both stood at last and, a minute later, were comfortably nestled beneath the sheets. The queen curled up against her husband's side as he slipped his arm beneath her neck. Agdar gave her a small peck on her forehead by way of a goodnight. Then they both closed their eyes and soon drifted off to sleep.

• • •

"Agdar! Agdar, wake up!"

The urgency in Ellinor's voice, along with her determined shaking of his shoulder, quickly brought the king to full wakefulness. "What? What is it?" He sat bolt upright, looking about the room for some sign of imminent danger. He saw none until he turned to look at his wife's face.

Even in the wan moonlight, he could that see she was frightfully pale. Her skin was clammy with sweat, and she hugged her arms tightly across her chest. She was shivering violently and her eyes were wide with emotion.

Immediately, Agdar drew her into his arms, holding her as tightly as he dared, trying to still her quaking. He only let go long enough to reach down with one hand and grab the blankets, trying to pull them up and around her slender body to hold in the warmth that she seemed incapable of maintaining on her own. She was so cold, it frightened him.

"Agdar," she whispered. "Agdar, I remember. I remember..."

"What, dear?" He hated to press her, but she seemed desperate to divulge whatever it was that had brought her to this state. "What do you remember?"

"My dream, Agdar. Oh, it's already starting to fade, but... I remember..."

Ellinor squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Agdar could practically feel her concentration as she tried to hold on to the insubstantial images within her mind.

"There was a woman," she breathed. "She was... beautiful. Beautiful, but distant. She had long blond hair, worn straight down her back. It was so pale, it was almost white, and yet her skin was paler still. But her eyes were the most piercing shade of blue, and... and..."

She sagged within his embrace. Her shaking lessened a little, but still refused to cease. "It's already gone. That's all I can remember. But I know, Agdar. I don't know how I know, but I know that I've seen her before."

"In your other dreams?" he asked quietly. "This was the same dream you've had before, wasn't it?"

The king had often watched his wife flail about in her sleep in the middle of the night, clearly in the throes of some disturbing vision. Usually these fits subsided quickly, and she would awake in the morning with no memory of them whatsoever. Only once before had they become severe enough and lasted long enough to lead him to panic. Even then, he had struggled for minutes to rouse Ellinor from her nocturnal torments. To the best of his knowledge, this was the first time she had ever woken herself from the nightmares.

He felt her nodding against his chest. "Yes. Yes, I suppose that m-must be it." Now that her focus had begun to flag, it seemed as though her feelings were threatening to overwhelm her. She was starting to stammer, despite her obvious efforts to maintain control. Each skip in her speech was accompanied by a small shudder.

"B-but if that's so," she continued, "then... then what d-does it mean? Agdar, who is she? Why should some strange woman keep visiting my d-dreams on so many nights, only to disappear by morning? Why do her visits l-leave me like this? And... and..."

Her normally calm voice was slowly threatening to rise into hysterics. That more than anything frightened the king. Suddenly, though, it changed entirely and became so soft and timid that he had to strain to make out her words.

"And why... why does she frighten me so?"

"Hush," he soothed. He began to rock her gently back and forth, running one hand slowly up and down her spine. "Hush. It's alright. They're only dreams. They can't hurt you. You're here with me now. You're safe. I've got you. I've got you. Shh..."

Ellinor began to weep.

Agdar continued to chant variations on the same soothing words, continued his comforting caress. He didn't know what else to do. All the while, however, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was holding not his wife in his arms, but rather one of his daughters when they had been younger and the darkness behind their eyelids was still filled with childhood monsters. He had said these exact same words to them then.

How woefully inadequate they seemed now.

He should have had more than empty comfort to give to Ellinor tonight. He should have had answers. There had been a time once when he'd had answers. Then again, there had been a time when he understood the questions. Now whenever he thought he might finally be coming to grips with the situation, it changed. He just couldn't keep up.

How was he to protect the women he loved when he couldn't even understand what it was that threatened them?

He felt the wetness in his own eyes, felt the first drops spill down his face. He was at least thankful that the tears were not reflected in his voice, which he was able to keep calm and steady and strong for Ellinor's sake.

Then Agdar remembered the words they had both exchanged only hours earlier, and he set his jaw in grim determination. Fine, so he might not be able to give his girls everything that they needed. But by heaven, he would give them everything that he had to give.

"I'm here for you, my darling," he said with firm resolve. "And if I have to crawl into your dreams myself and fight off every demon and specter and vile creature of your imagination with my bare hands, so help me, I will.

"Nothing will ever hurt you so long as I live. This I swear to you, now and forever."

Ellinor's body gave one last powerful shudder, and then at last seemed to still. He felt her hand brush his chest as she lifted it to wipe at her cheeks. She sniffed a few times, then drew back just enough to look up at him. She didn't say anything immediately, but simply ran her eyes over his face. Then she leaned in again and rested a cheek against his chest.

"Just hold me, Agdar," she said softly. "Hold me and don't let go. That will be enough for tonight."

Together, they laid back down upon the mattress. She tugged the sheets over them both as he kept his arms wrapped firmly about her chest. He held her while she stared into the darkness, still too scared to shut her eyes. He held her until she could hold out no longer and finally slipped back to sleep. He held her throughout the long, dark hours of the night.


	9. Crushing Responsibilities

A feeling of unease pursued Ellinor for the next several days. Never before had one of her dreams unsettled her so deeply. Of course, she had also never managed to retain any memories of those dreams before this incident either. Strange how a little bit of information could be so much worse than none at all.

Agdar had continued to do his best to reassure her. He pointed out, truthfully enough, that all sorts of strange and disturbing things wander through sleeping minds at night, and yet none of them carry any deep meaning. He was also quite correct to say that the woman she'd described sounded more than a little like Elsa, and that if there was any significance to these dreams, it might be nothing more than her continued anxiety about their daughter's situation.

Ellinor was willing to concede all of this. And yet, she believed none of it. She might not remember much of the nightmare that had so shaken her, but she simply could not bring herself to imagine ever feeling that terrified of her own daughter, even in a foolish dream.

Too much had already happened that fell far beyond the limits of her imagination.

In the end, she had resolved that the best thing she could due was to simply try to put the entire business out of her mind. Whether or not these elusive visions really meant anything at all, she could not allow them to consume her days as well as her nights.

That was why, more than ever, she was thankful that she had made the effort to become a bigger part of Anna's life again. There was no better distraction for her at the moment than her younger daughter.

Today found them in the library. Sitting side by side on the lounge, they were skimming over the latest book of stories that the queen had procured for Anna's nightly readings. Two tall glasses of fruit juice and a plate piled with cheeses and small pieces of flatbread rested on the table behind them. Ellinor had drawn back the curtains and opened the windows, allowing both bright sunlight and a pleasant breeze to join them in the room.

At the moment, Anna was giggling at a particularly amusing tale they had just finished reading.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" she managed to proclaim between spurts of laughter. "I think Elsa will really like this one. Don't you agree, Mother?"

The queen smiled. "Yes, I'm certain she'll love it. There are so many good stories in this book, it ought to keep you well supplied for weeks at least."

Ellinor turned half around in her seat to help herself to another small morsel of food. As she did so, she glanced at the grandfather clock by window.

"My goodness, is that the time?" She stood up quickly and hastily smoothed the folds of her dress. "I'm sorry, Anna dear, but I'm afraid we'll have to finish this another time. Your father and I are meeting a young man about the vacancy that's opening up in the stables, and he should be arriving very shortly now."

She paused for a moment when she saw the flicker of disappointment cross the princess's face. Anna hid it quickly, though. Her daughter always tried her hardest not to be a burden upon others. "Oh, that's alright. I understand, really. We'll have plenty of time to read more stories later." She turned back to the book in her lap and began to flip through the pages in a display of interest and unconcern that was mostly convincing.

Ellinor continued to hesitate before finally coming to a decision. "I have a better idea, Anna. Why don't you come down to the stables with me? After all, whoever we hire will be looking after Adelen too. Besides, you've probably spent more time in the stables these last few years than your father and me combined. Given all that, I would very much like your opinion on this candidate – and on any others that we might consider too, for that matter."

The look of surprise on Anna's face was simply adorable. "Really? You mean it? Only you've never asked my opinion on anything like this before, so..."

"Well, you're growing up now, sweetheart," Ellinor replied, "and I think these past few years, you've demonstrated a great deal of common sense and responsibility."

"I have?" Her daughter blinked at her incredulously, apparently even more shocked by this assessment than she had been just a moment earlier. She recovered quickly however, then lifted her chin and grinned.

"I mean, of course I have! Sensible and responsible! Yep, that's me. Absolutely. Nobody's sense is more common than mine! At least that's... wait, what?" She floundered for a moment as she attempted to mentally retrace the string of words that had just tumbled out of her. Apparently, they hadn't bothered to receive proper clearance from her brain before leaving, and now she was struggling to complete the mental paperwork.

Ellinor bit her lower lip to keep from laughing at the look of distracted confusion on her daughter's face. Even so, she could not entirely hide her smile. "Come on," she said as she offered Anna her hand. "We don't want to keep your father waiting any longer than he already has."

• • •

It turned out that King Agdar was indeed waiting, but not for them. He was still alone when they joined him outside the stables. Mild irritation and impatience was plain upon his face when he saw Ellinor approaching with Anna at her side. The young princess was practically skipping with excitement at her unexpected inclusion. When she saw her father's disgruntled expression, however, she quickly restrained herself.

The king's features softened then, and he tousled her hair a little when she drew up beside him, causing her to squirm and bat at his hand. "Father, please!" she protested, drawing herself up straight and putting on what she considered to be her most dignified face. "I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm growing up. I have responsibilities now. And, you know... other things."

Agdar's eyebrows rose as he looked over Anna's head at his wife. She just smiled and shrugged.

"He hasn't arrived yet, I take it?" the queen asked then, despite the obviousness of the answer.

"No," he replied, and some measure of his frown returned. "Kai went to the gates to escort him in, but that was half an hour ago and there's been no word since."

"Oh dear." Ellinor shook her head. "Not exactly the best way to present yourself when you're looking for new employment, is it?"

"No," Agdar agreed, "it's not. But at least I now have some company to help pass the time while I wait." He grinned down at his daughter, only to find that she was no longer where he had left her just a moment earlier. Looking around, he saw why.

Anna had unlatched the upper part of one of the stable doors and was resting her forearms upon the lower half. She'd propped her chin atop one wrist and was gazing inside at what he knew would be Adelen's stall.

He walked over to stand beside her at the half open door and peered down at her face. He saw there the unmistakable expression of the daydreamer: half in this world and half in some other which only she could see. Still, as he had expected, her eyes were fixed upon her faithful horse, which stood in his stall munching contentedly on a mouthful of feed.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said quietly after perhaps a minute had passed in this fashion.

The princess shifted her weight slightly, but otherwise didn't move much. Her response, when it came, was every bit as distant and dreamlike as her expression. "I was just thinking that I've gotten pretty good at riding by now. Don't you think so?"

Agdar had the awkward feeling that he knew where this was headed, but he nodded anyway. "Yes, you've done very well. I'm quite proud of you."

"But I haven't learned anything new in a very long time, have I? I was just wondering if the reason for that is... well, because I've learned all I can from simply riding around the castle grounds."

Ah yes, Agdar's suspicions had been right on the mark. Now he thought he knew what had been unfolding behind his daughter's eyes. He'd bet anything that she had been imagining herself atop Adelen, galloping through some upland meadow or between the trees of some lush mountain vale – anywhere but the all-too-familiar courtyards surrounding the palace. He'd actually been expecting that this day would come for some time now, and was rather surprised that it had taken so long for Anna to finally raise the issue.

Before he could begin to address his daughter's dilemma, however, another voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Agdar. Anna."

Both turned at the sound of the queen's call. She was standing near one of the pillars that supported the roof and walkway above their heads. With her stood Kai and another young gentleman whose flushed face and flaring nostrils gave the impression of someone who was trying very hard not to gasp for air after having run very quickly over a very long distance. He also had a haggard, rather unkempt look about him. All told, it was not an encouraging first impression.

As the king strode back to join the others, Kai spoke in his most formal of tones. "Your Majesties, may I present Mr. Josef Mikkelsen." The young man bowed deeply.

"Mr. Mikkelsen," Agdar began, "you're late."

"I beg Your Majesties' pardon," he said as he straightened and gave an apologetic nod to both the king and queen. "That is, for my both my tardiness and my appearance. I know how this must look, and believe me, I meant no offense. It was only... You see, one of the animals in my care – a draft horse that pulls a carriage for the inn – well, he came down sick during the night. The local veterinarian was out of town at a farm a short way up the coast, and he was not expected back until mid-morning.

"So I spent the night with Hardfør – that would be the horse's name, Your Majesties – tending to him as best I could. Not that I claim to be a horse doctor, mind you, but I like to think I've picked up a few things from watching those who are when they've tended to my animals over the years. I made sure he was comfortable and kept him supplied with plenty of water. He didn't seem to have much in the way of an appetite, mind you. Anyway, there wasn't much sleep for me excepting a short nap in the wee hours of the morning when I just couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.

"The doc himself only got back an hour ago, and even though I knew I was expected here at the castle, I couldn't leave Hardfør until I'd gotten a learned opinion on the situation. I would have sent someone ahead with a message, but I'm afraid all our runners had already been sent off early on errands for the inn. So as soon as I got the diagnosis, I hurried here as quickly as I could. Knowing I was already late, I'm afraid I didn't take the time to make myself as presentable as I should have. Again, my apologies." He bowed once more. "No excuses, Sir, Ma'am. Just an explanation."

"And what did you find out?" Ellinor inquired.

Josef turned to her, momentarily confused "Ma'am?"

"About the horse. What was the diagnosis?"

"Ah, right. Pardon me, Your Majesty. I'm afraid my wits are already halfway to bed without me this morning. The doc says Hardfør will be just fine, thank you. It looks like the old boy just ate something that didn't exactly agree with him. He's always had a tendency to go wrapping his muzzle around anything he thought he could chew. I'm supposed to make sure he keeps getting plenty of water, food if he wants it, and rest him for a day or two. Doc will check up on him again then, but he expects that ought to be the end of it."

The queen smiled. "Well, that's very good news, Mr. Mikkelsen."

"Indeed it is, Ma'am."

Agdar, who had so far followed this exchange without comment, at last interrupted with a clearing of his throat. "Well, Mr. Mikkelsen. Now that you are here, are you ready to take a look at our facilities? Of course, if you aren't feeling up to it after the night you've had, we could always reschedule."

The young man drew himself up to his full and considerable height and shook his head. "No, Sir. I'm quite ready, thank you. Besides, I've been wanting a chance to see the royal stables again. They housed some truly magnificent steeds back when I worked here as a lad. I don't know that any of them will remember me after all these years, but I have many fond memories of tending to them, make no mistake."

Nodding, the king turned and led the way through the nearest of the stable doors. As soon as Josef stepped inside, a smile spread across his face. "Isn't it funny how you expect places to change just because you have? But no, it's just like I remember it. Well, perhaps a little less crowded."

It was only after those last few words had left his mouth, of course, that he considered how ill-advised it likely was to bring up the sudden reduction in staff that had preceded the closing of the castle gates five years earlier. Rather than draw any additional attention to his blunder, however, he instead strode forward and began to walk along the individual stalls, peering into each one as he went.

Not only were there fewer people in the stables these days, but also fewer horses as well. Previously, numerous mounts had been kept on hand for the use of castle staff who might need to deliver a message to distant hamlets. Other stalls had been set aside to accommodate the steeds of incoming messengers as well, or for the carriage horses of visitors with sufficient rank to be offered an overnight stay in one of the castle's guest rooms.

Now, however, Josef passed several empty stalls before he finally came to one that was actually still occupied. His smile broadened as he reached out a hand and stroked the gracefully powerful neck.

"Hello again, Trofaste," he said fondly. "Been a long time, hasn't it? The last time you saw me, I still would've needed a stool to tend to your mane properly. Aw, but you're still as beautiful as ever, aren't you? And where's your other half, eh?"

He peered into the next stall. "Ah, there you are, Tønne! Yes, I figured the pair of you would still be close together. I remember all the trouble you used to give the senior handlers if they ever tried to put another horse in a stall between you. Haven't come across many other horses who are as close as the two of you. Then again, I've never seen two who looked so much alike either. It took me months before I could tell which of you was which."

He rubbed the forehead of the king's mount affectionately. Tønne flicked his ears in quiet appreciation of the gesture before Josef finally continued his walk. A few stalls further along, he stopped, cocked his head, and examined the occupant thoughtfully. "Well now, this is a new face, if I'm not mistaken." Putting his hand on the stall gate, he turned to look at the king and queen. "May I?" he asked. When Agdar nodded, he undid the hook and then slipped inside.

The horse, however, was nowhere near as casual about the new visitor's entrance as the king had been. He stamped his hoof nervously at the stranger, snorted, and began backing slowly away into the corner. Josef stopped where he stood and considered the animal with a critical eye. He did not seem at all upset by the horse's agitation, but instead simply projected a calm patience. His arms hung easily at his sides as he continued his scrutiny.

"Good breeding," he commented. "Powerful lines. Bit skittish, though. May have been weened from his mother a little too quickly. Fair temperament otherwise?" he asked.

"He's a big sweetie!" came a voice that was wholly new to the conversation. Josef turned and looked at the freckled face that had spoken the words.

Anna had stepped up onto the bottom slat of the stall gate in order to better see what was happening. Her hands rested upon the top rail for support as she leaned to one side and attempted to catch the horse's attention, wanting to reassure and calm her dear friend.

The young ostler smiled and inclined his head in her direction. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced, Miss. My name is Josef. Josef Mikkelsen. And you are...?"

The young redhead finally stopped trying to look around him and instead lifted her eyes to his face. Then she froze, and simply continued to stare at him without saying a word.

"Miss?" he prompted again.

Ellinor stepped up and rested her hands upon her daughter's shoulders. "This is our youngest, Princess Anna," she said with a smile.

Quickly yet smoothly, so as not to startle the already agitated animal with whom he shared the small space, Josef bowed. "My apologies, Princess. Your Highness. Ma'am."

Anna continued to stare at him, not saying a word.

"I take it this is your horse then?" he asked. The princess nodded once. "He's a handsome fellow. What's his name?"

"A-Adelen," she stammered quietly.

"Adelen, huh? A good, noble name." He turned back to the nervous stallion. "Hello, Adelen," he soothed. "Princess Anna here tells me that you aren't usually so standoffish. I'm sorry if I've upset you. Would it help you to know that I've come bearing gifts?"

He withdrew his hand from his jacket pocket then. He'd been so slow and subtle in his movements that it was hard to say when he'd slipped it in there in the first place. Now however, as he turned it over and uncurled his fingers, two bright white sugar cubes sparkled upon his calloused palm.

It took a few moments before the horse noticed the proffered treat. Even then, he did not move out of his corner. But the agitated tossing of his head finally stilled as one large brown eye focused on the glistening sweet.

Josef, arm still extended before him, took one step forward. Then another. Adelen still appeared tense, but the fear he had exhibited until a few seconds ago now seemed to have given way to a simple cautious wariness. Step by slow step, man approached horse. At last, his hand came to a stop a short distance below the stallion's nose.

It was just low enough that Adelen had to drop his head in order to scoop the cubes into his mouth.

His hand now empty, Josef lowered it to his side. Beyond that, though, he did not move. He did not reach out to stroke the horse, nor did he back away. He simply stood there, waiting for Adelen to come to terms with his presence now that there was no longer any bribery between them. The message he conveyed seemed perfectly clear. "You let me get close enough now that I could touch you if I wanted. But I won't unless you're ready. I got us this far. The next move is yours."

Somehow, the horse actually managed to convey the impression of seriously considering the situation. For several heartbeats, neither moved. Then Adelen nickered softly and rubbed his muzzle against the young man's shoulder. Only then did Josef reach up to scratch his new friend beneath the chin with one hand while patting his neck with the other.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Adelen," he said with a smile.

Now that the two had apparently made their peace with one another, the prospective stable hand was able to give Anna's horse a closer look. He ran his hands over the horse's flanks and down the legs. He lifted the hooves and examined the shoes with a practiced eye. His inspection ranged from muzzle to tail before he was finally satisfied and returned to the gate. Anna had to hop down before he could exit.

As he reseated the hook that held the gate shut, he spoke with care and deliberation. "Now I already said that I'm no veterinarian. When it comes to the inner workings of a horse, or any other animal, I leave that to those who know. Still, there are some things you start to pick up on when you spend as much time with these animals as I have, particularly about the way they think. Adelen here, he hasn't had the chance to get out much, has he?"

"I ride him at least once or twice a week!" Anna protested, briefly finding her voice again.

"And where do you ride him?" Josef asked politely as he turned to look at her.

"Oh, you know..." Under his gaze, her tongue seemed determined to beat a hasty retreat down her throat. "Around."

He nodded. "This is just my opinion, but I think your Adelen could stand to stretch his legs a little more than he's been allowed to so far. He's a fairly young horse compared to Trofaste and Tønne. I think giving him a chance to really get up to a good gallop every now and then would do him good. I suspect he's got a lot of pent up energy right now, and that might be contributing to his jitters. Truth be told, I wouldn't put it amiss to give the other horses in here a similar chance every once in a while too. A bit of vigorous exercise like that should help build and maintain their muscle tone. Besides, nobody likes to be cooped up all the time."

Agdar and Ellinor glanced at each other. "Thank you for your insight," the king eventually replied for them both. "We'll certainly take that into consideration. Now, is there anything else you'd like to see?"

They finished walking the remaining length of the stables. The king and the ostler exchanged a few words along the way, asking and answering questions at need. At last, with all parties seemingly satisfied, the young Mr. Mikkelsen presented written letters of recommendation both from the man under whom he'd apprenticed and the keeper of the inn where he now worked.

The royal couple thanked him graciously for his time, then delivered him back to Kai. The steward had waited patiently outside the stables during their brief tour. Now with a bow, he escorted their guest back away toward the castle gates.

"Well, I have to say that I was very impressed," Ellinor declared once the two men had passed beyond earshot. "I never thought he would have remembered our horses so well after all these years, considering how young he was when he last saw them. And the way he handled himself with Adelen was quite extraordinary."

Agdar was nodding his agreement. "Yes, I can see what Lennart meant about how well he understands his charges. And these," he indicated the recommendations in his hand, "are equally encouraging. Even his reason for being late speaks to his character. I don't know about you, but I personally think we needn't look any further for our new stable hand."

Before passing her final judgment, the queen turned to look at their daughter. "You've been unusually quiet so far, Anna. What did you think of Mr. Mikkelsen?"

The princess was still looking off in the direction taken by the man who was apparently all but set to become the newest member of the castle staff. She had a far off look upon her face, not unlike the one she had worn earlier when her father had approached her by the half open stable door. Her parents waited patiently while their daughter collected her thoughts. Finally, she spoke.

"Well," Anna said, choosing her words with extreme care, "I think he's..."

• • •

"He's gorgeous!"

Anna leaned her head back against Elsa's door and closed her eyes. Upon her face was a dreamy expression that had been pasted there for the better part of the day.

"He's very tall, of course. Strong too, I'm sure. But he was so gentle with the horses! Trofaste and Tønne treated him like he was an old friend, which I suppose he is, in a way. And you should have seen the way he calmed Adelen right down. It was amazing!

"I think it must have been his voice. Oh, Elsa, he has the most wonderful voice. You'd expect it to be rougher by looking at him, but it isn't. It's full, but not too deep. It's like... Well, I don't know what it's like. Maybe... Can you imagine what chocolate would sound like? I know that doesn't make much sense, but that's his voice!

"And his eyes! They were so dark, I could hardly tell what color they were. It seemed like they were almost as black as his hair – which, by the way, is also amazing! He wears it longer than Father does, but not so long that it starts to look shaggy or anything.

"Then there's his smile! Ooh, whenever he smiled, I think my brain just switched off. I hope I didn't embarrass myself too badly. I mean, I don't want him to think that I'm just some silly little girl. After all, Mother keeps saying how quickly I'm growing up. And besides, I'm a princess, right? Princesses aren't silly. We're regal!"

She paused to take a breath and to mentally refresh her image of the young Mr. Mikkelsen. She sighed and smiled.

Anna had rushed to Elsa's room as soon as she had left their parents that afternoon, in order to regale her sister with every detail of that meeting in the stables. That had been hours ago, however. Now, the sky outside was darkening as the setting sun flickered between the peaks of the distant mountains.

Not that she had spent that entire time in this familiar spot. Naturally, she'd left before dinner, and had only returned again a short while ago. This time, she had brought with her the book that she and her mother had been enjoying earlier that day. After all, she always tried to have a story ready to tell Elsa every evening.

The book sat unopened on the floor beside her. Obviously, even on its second telling, the tale of her own unexpected encounter was far more interesting (to Anna, at least) than anything a book could possibly have to offer.

"Mother and Father both agreed that he seems perfect to fill Lennart's position," she continued with renewed vigor. "They should be extending the offer within the next day or two. Of course, he'll need a little time to straighten up his affairs at the inn where he works. After all, I'm sure he won't want to leave until he knows that Hardfør is completely recovered. Oh, Hardfør is a horse. Did I mention that? I don't remember. Anyway, the point is that he ought to be starting here within the next week, two at the most."

"Oh, Elsa, it will be so nice to have a new face to talk to around here. And someone close to my own age, too!" Only in Anna's mind at that moment could an eight year difference be considered close to her own age, rather than almost twice her own tale of years.

Of course, love tends to make you view the world in a rather strange sort of light...

Even puppy love.


	10. Stable Relationships

Anna peeked around the door, then pulled back quickly and pressed herself hard up against the wall. She tried to keep her breathing steady. She tried to keep her heart from racing. She attempted to will the blood that was suddenly warming her cheeks back to wherever it had been a few seconds earlier.

None of these endeavors met with any great success.

So finally, before her nerves got the better of her for the umpteenth time that day, she simply bounded around the corner into the stables.

"Oh, Josef!" she exclaimed in would-be surprise. "I didn't realize you were here!"

The newest member of the castle staff looked up at the sound of her voice, then hurriedly rose to his feet in order to grace her with a bow. "Your Highness."

Anna laughed in what she hoped was a charming way. "I hope you aren't going to do that every time you see me. You shouldn't have to stop what you're working on all the time simply on my account. Considering how often I come down here to visit Adelen, you might never get anything done."

"It's only proper, Your Highness," Josef replied.

"And you don't need to call me that either." She smiled and waved her hand airily. "I always feel a little too short to be anybody's Highness."

At these words, her lips traveled a short distance along the path from a smile to a wince. Oh, that was just brilliant. What a perfect way to remind him just how very young she was! Maybe next time, she could just show him her dolls instead.

"Then what should I call you, Ma'am?" he asked.

Her natural instinct was to balk at the stable hand's use of that title too. It made her sound so old! Ah, but in this case, old was a good thing, right? Well, maybe it was and maybe it wasn't. The fact was that there was no way she was ever going to feel comfortable being called, "Ma'am." She kept fighting the urge to look over her shoulder to see if he was perhaps addressing her mother instead.

"You could call me Princess Anna," she offered. "Or just Princess. Or even, you know, Anna. That is my name, after all." And it's what I'd really like to hear you call me, she added silently.

Josef considered these options for a moment, then nodded. "Very well then, Princess Anna. Is there something I can help you with today?"

"No, no," she answered. "Like I said, I just came down to visit Adelen. You know, my horse. He's here. Well, not here, obviously, but there. In his stall. In the stables. Well, of course, in the stables. I mean, that's why we're both here, right? Because, if you want to find a horse, this is the place you would go, wouldn't you? Heh, yeah..."

There was that burning in her cheeks again, right on cue. That might just be a new record for the briefest entry into a conversation before her habitual rambling had managed to thoroughly embarrass her. This was not at all the way she'd imagined this encounter going. Perhaps she should cut her losses early and try again another time. Hopefully after Josef had a chance to forget about her ridiculous babbling. Sometime next year, perhaps.

She had to swallow a sigh before she finished weakly, "Don't mind me. Please, just go back to what you were doing."

She started to take her first step past him and toward Adelen's stall when she finally happened to glance over at the object that he was holding in his hands. Then she stopped and looked again, puzzled.

"Um, what _are _you doing?"

Josef looked down at the small paint brush he was holding. "This? Oh, well, you see, I got to thinking the other day after I noticed that Trofaste and Tønne looked like they hadn't been ridden in a while. It occurred to me that, if they hadn't seen much use, then what condition might their tack be in?"

He sat back down on the short stool that he had been occupying when she'd entered, then picked up one of several straps of leather that lay upon a clean, dry cloth on the stable floor. He lifted it up to eye level and turned it this way and that, examining it by the light that streamed in through the open door.

"It wasn't as bad as I feared it might be," he went on. "Lennart and the other lads didn't neglect it or anything. They cleaned it all regularly, kept it out of the sun. Still, some of it had dried out a little more than I normally like to see. If it gets too dry, then the leather can start to crack, and that could lead to a dangerous rip while you're riding.

"So I've been taking the time to slowly work some oil into it all. You don't want to do too much, or you'll go to the other extreme and end up making it all limp and useless. Get it right, though, and you can pretty well bring life back to hide that's nearly as tough as jerky."

He dipped the tip of his brush into a small jar of light oil by his feet, then began to apply it to the strap in smooth, even strokes.

Anna watched, inexplicably fascinated. Her father had taught her how important it was to clean a horse's saddle and bridle after any significant bit of riding. She'd done so herself many times, since she often didn't have anything else to do after an afternoon's trot around the courtyard. Somehow, though, she'd apparently failed to realize that there was so much more to properly caring for the leathers. Now she wondered how much work the other stable hands had done on her own riding equipment without her ever knowing.

The princess took a few steps closer, then bent down to get a better look at the various pieces laid out on the ground. She had to stare at them for a while, but she slowly began to recognize the patterns in the various lengths of hide and how they just might fit back together.

"So this is a bridle then?" she asked.

"That's right."

"Whose is it?"

"This one is Trofaste's. The bit's a little different than Tønne's." He tilted his head toward the edge of the cloth, where the linked bits of nickel rested apart from the leather straps. "Those two might look like they're both the exact same horse, but they have their own personality quirks the same as anyone. Trofaste prefers a French link mouthpiece. See that extra bean-shaped link in the middle there? Tønne, on the other hand, is fine with a simpler jointed mouthpiece, but responds better with dee-rings instead of the loose ring on this bit here."

"Just how many different kinds of bits are there?"

"Oh, there are maybe half a dozen basic types that are reasonably common. Naturally, though, there's a lot of variety within each of those types too, like the different mouth pieces and rings I was just talking about. When you consider all the possible combinations, there are hundreds and hundreds of different possibilities. The right bit depends upon the horse's temperament, the shape of its mouth, the sort of work its being asked to do. Making the best choice is usually equal parts experience and experiment."

Anna was moderately surprised to find that her jaw wasn't hanging open at this revelation. To be honest, she'd never paid much attention to any other tack besides her own, so she had mostly just assumed that they were all pretty much the same. She had never considered that something as apparently simple as the bit could actually be so complicated.

She stared at Josef with even greater admiration than she'd had for him a few minutes earlier.

"Did you learn all of this during your apprenticeship?"

He shrugged. "Not all of it, no. I pretty much grew up around horses. My uncle likes to joke that I knew how to ride before I could walk, so I almost couldn't help but pick up a lot of things along the way. I did learn a lot more on the job, though. Helping to tend to so many different horses every week, I began to see things that I never would have figured out from just working with our family's lot. All the various breeds and the differences in training and the unexpected problems that cropped up along the way always kept me on my toes."

"You seem to have learned a lot," Anna agreed, "and learned it well! I was amazed watching you with Adelen. It seemed like it all came so naturally to you. I wish I had a talent like that."

The brush paused in its sweeping movements. Josef again lifted the leather into the light, squinting slightly to better appraise his work. Apparently satisfied, he temporarily tucked the handle of the brush between his teeth, carefully stretched the strap out upon the cloth, then picked up another and set to work on it with the same patient persistence as the one before.

"Oh, I'm sure you have many talents of your own, Princess," he finally replied. "I was just fortunate to have found mine at an early age. Not everyone is that lucky. I have a cousin who's a few years older than me, and he well near drives my aunt and uncle crazy with the way he's forever jumping from one new passion to the next."

"I'd love to be able to try new things like that all the time," Anna declared eagerly. "There's so much outside the castle walls that I want to see and do and explore. Maybe then I could find that one special thing that's... Well, I don't know." She shrugged. "That's all my own, I guess. That makes me part of something bigger.

"That doesn't really make sense, does it?" she conceded with a sheepish smile. "I mean, if it really was just mine alone, then it couldn't very well be part of something bigger, could it?"

"Oh, I don't know about that." Josef stopped brushing in the oil for a moment and looked at her thoughtfully. "Seems to me that everything's part of something bigger, no matter how unique it might be. Take these here straps, for instance. You need all of them to make a bridle, but you can't just interchange them. Each one has its own place. Mix them up, and it'll never fit right.

"It's the same with people, I suppose. We're each a part of our families, and those are each a part of the town and of Arendelle. But we all have our roles to play. Even those of us who don't quite know what that might be just yet," he finished with a wink.

Suddenly, Anna felt distinctly self-conscious. Her plan when she had first headed down to the stables today had been to just engage Josef in a bit of amiable conversation. She'd simply wanted to impress him with her witty banter – which, granted, just went to show how little she'd actually thought through this supposed plan of hers.

Still, she had never intended to start confiding her hopes and dreams to him. They'd barely met, after all. She was nobody to him, besides the Princess of Arendelle and the daughter of his newest employers. So how was it that she had somehow ended up talking to him about such personal matters? Maybe she was just desperate for anybody new who might take the time to listen to her... and who wasn't made of oils on canvas.

"You know," Anna said in a bid to change the subject, "you couldn't have picked a better time to join the staff. Midsummer's Eve is coming up soon, and we always have a big banquet for all the staff and their families. Then afterward, there's a bonfire down by the water's edge. There'll be music and dancing, and everyone always has such a great time. I hope you'll be able to come."

An eager grin split the young man's face then, and with it came a childlike excitement that suddenly made the difference in their ages seem almost as small as Anna imagined it to be. "Oh, I will. I've been wanting to see one myself for five years now. I missed the one Midsummer's Eve celebration that was held during my time here as a stable boy. I don't even remember now why I couldn't make it back then, but I do remember the rest of the hands going on and on about it the following day. I was so jealous, and so disappointed that I'd missed it.

"Even now, people in the town talk about it every year, you know. It's just about the only time that anybody who doesn't work in the castle gets to see inside it these days. When there was no celebration the year after they closed the gates, everybody thought that would just be the end of it. You wouldn't believe the excitement the next year when it was announced that it was happening again."

Anna returned his smile with one of her own. "Oh, I think I might. It's one of the highlights of my year too, and one of the few times I get to visit _outside_ the castle. Every year when it comes around, I thank my sister for convincing Mother and Father to start celebrating it again. And every year, I find myself wishing that things could be that way all the time."

She was surprised and rather disappointed to see Josef's smile fade, to be replaced by an awkward and somewhat uncomfortable expression. He lowered his eyes for a moment, only to realize that he was still holding the brush and a piece of bridle. Both had been forgotten during these last few minutes while they had been talking

Looking rather surprised to find both of these items in his hands, he nevertheless bent down, dipped the bristles into the jar of oil again, and set back to work on the dry leather. Unsure what had caused him to suddenly cut off their conversation, Anna sat and watched him quietly, trying to figure out what she might have said or, even better, what she ought to say next.

She didn't have too very long to ponder those questions, however. Without taking his eyes from his work, Josef spoke again.

"Begging your pardon, Ma'am – I mean, Princess – but I would like to ask you a question. You must forgive me if it seems a little out of line for one of my station. It's just that... Well, it's something that I've been wanting to know for a while now. No one else seems to have the answer, and I don't think I could bring myself to ask it of the King or Queen. So I mean no disrespect, and if it makes you uncomfortable, then you certainly don't owe me a reply. I only..."

He trailed off. Anna peered at him closely, wanting to understand what it could be that was making him so uncomfortable. She was a little startled when she realized that there was now a hint of color rising up into _his_ cheeks, though she could not begin to guess if it was just another symptom of his original discomfort or if it might possibly be caused by her sudden keen attention.

"What's your question?" she asked softly. "I'll try to answer it if I can."

His eyes darted to hers ever so briefly before they resumed following his own careful brush strokes. A few more seconds passed before he finally gave voice to his query.

"Why did they close the castle gates?" Before she could answer, another rapid string of words tumbled out of his mouth. "I know it's not exactly any of my business. Only, I loved working here back in the day. As a boy, to be helping to tend to the horses that belonged to the King and Queen was an unbelievable thrill. And I got to see so many amazing people come passing through the courtyard. Then one day, I was suddenly told, 'We're afraid your services will no longer be required,' and that was that.

"I've just wondered ever since... you know... what happened?"

This time, Anna did not even attempt to hide her sigh. "Well, I suppose that's something that you and I have in common then," she admitted. "Mother and Father have never really explained it to me either. Believe me, I've asked. Apparently, there are some things that even princesses don't get to know. So I'm sorry, but that's one question I'm afraid I can't answer for you either."

Certainly, it seemed obvious enough to Anna that, whatever the reason might be, it was in some way tied to Elsa's seclusion within her room. She still didn't understand how, though. And even if she had, she didn't think that was the sort of thing she'd be willing to share with someone who was still mostly a stranger to her – even if he was a very friendly and handsome stranger.

Josef nodded his acceptance of her answer. "Fair enough," he said. "My thanks to you anyway."

Once again, he paused in his task to scrutinize the results. With a quiet grunt of satisfaction, he gently placed the strap back down upon the cloth at his feet. He stood and stretched, then bent down to pick up the jar of oil. Fastening its lid back on tightly, he carried it over to the corner and set it upon a high shelf. Then he swished the brush around in a bucket of cleaning water, flicked most of the moisture off onto the floor, and finally dried the rest with another bit of rag he pulled out of his pocket. Then he returned and began to transfer the pieces of leather to a safe location on another shelf, where the oils could be allowed to soak in for a while before the bridle was at last ready to be reassembled

Anna watched all of this distractedly and without comment. Thoughts of Elsa and the many secrets kept hidden within her family had effectively placed a damper upon her usual talkative tendencies. She didn't even realize how quiet the stables had become until she suddenly jumped at the next noise.

"Weren't you here to see a horse?"

She looked up to see Josef standing in front of her, wiping off his hands on that same well-used piece of rag. His smile was back again, and there was a merry twinkle in his eye.

"What? Oh, right! Yes, Adelen. You know, perhaps a short little ride around the courtyard would do us both some good."

"Can't argue with that logic," he replied. "Why don't you go open the stall, and I'll just grab your saddle and bridle."

And so, a few minutes later, Anna was trotting her horse across the flagstones while Josef leaned against one of the columns and watched with an expert's eye. As she swung past him on her circuit, he called out little bits of advice. Mostly, he pointed out small changes she could make that would get the same results with less wasted effort on her part, and less discomfort for her mount.

Minor though the adjustments were, Anna found herself having to struggle against several years of habit in order to actually make them properly. Whenever she did manage them, though, she could immediately feel the differences that they made, slight though they might be. It felt like Adelen responded more easily and with less resistance.

It looked like she had some new things she could still learn after all.

• • •

Elsa peered out of her window at the scene below. Her sketchbook rested in her lap and she held a pencil loosely between her fingers, but she was not drawing. Instead, she just leaned her shoulder against the glass and watched as her sister bent down in her saddle to talk to the new stable hand who had so caught her fancy just a few days earlier.

She still remembered the last time she had seen Anna making a new friend from this very vantage point years ago. Back then, the sight of her sister apparently moving on with her life had made Elsa feel more alone than ever, and the result had been an uncontrolled burst of jagged ice all along the window sill. Later that same day, when her father had seen the aftermath of her emotions, he had presented her with her first pair of gloves. Along with that gift had come the repetition of what had soon become her own personal mantra: Conceal it, don't feel it. Don't let it show.

So much had changed since then, and so little. She did not feel the same pangs of jealousy this time as she watched Anna talking to... What was his name? Oh yes, Josef. She was truly glad that her little sister had found another someone with whom she could talk. For a while, Elsa had thought she might at least be able to be that much for her sister. Now she realized that simply was not meant to be. She was back to merely being an observer in Anna's life – a listener, perhaps, but never a speaker.

She also found that this arrangement no longer hurt her as much as it once had. Maybe that was part of growing up. Then again, it might only be because she was too emotionally drained to respond to it quite so deeply anymore. When that sort of pain is with you day in and day out for so long, there comes a time when your mind simply cannot help but to stop feeling it.

The real danger, at least in Elsa's mind, was if you let yourself stop feeling anything else either along the way. Sometimes it had seemed like the easiest way to follow her father's advice, to shut out the fear and the sadness, was just to shut down all her feelings entirely. But then, she had experienced a few times when exactly that had happened through no conscious decision on her part. Nothing had seemed to matter and nothing had held any interest for her. Such days often came on suddenly, without warning or reason, and left her with so little motivation that she couldn't even begin to think about finding a way out of her despondency.

Fortunately, things weren't that bad today. She really did feel happy for Anna. It was a quiet, subdued sort of happiness, but it was there nevertheless.

Elsa turned away from the window to look back at her pad of paper. Her emotions might still be with her, but something else was missing instead. The top sheet was completely blank. She felt the urge to draw, but not the inspiration.

She had come to sit by the window in hopes that she might see something to change that. And though the sight of her sister had buoyed her spirits, she had already filled many a page with images of Anna and Adelen. She felt the need to do something different today. On its own, however, different was not something that was terribly easy to capture on paper. She had lost track of exactly how long she'd been gazing out at the courtyard, but so far, nothing she'd seen had captured her fancy.

Still at a loss, she now found her pencil beginning to wander across the blank page in aimless doodles. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes, she could find shapes within such scribbles that would spark her imagination. So she just let the lines drift as they would. And yet, no matter how hard she looked, all she could see was a mess of random squiggles.

She finally gave up when she was suddenly attacked by a mighty yawn, with a second following closely behind. It wasn't fair the way they ganged up on her like that, but she knew when she was outnumbered. Setting paper and pencil down on the floor beneath the window, she stretched out upon the padded bench and allowed the warm sun of the spring afternoon to pleasantly bathe her face and body. It wasn't long before her eyes grew heavy and her thoughts sluggish. In no time at all, consciousness slipped away and sleep crept in to take its place.

Elsa found herself standing... Well, she wasn't sure where she was, exactly. All she knew for certain was that there was blackness above her and whiteness below. The terrain wasn't flat and it wasn't featureless, but it seemed to rise and fall in strange formations that she couldn't quite understand. She turned on the spot, taking in this unusual landscape and trying to make sense of what she was seeing. No matter the angle, however, something about it continued to elude her.

A frigid wind blasted down upon her out of nowhere, sending her braid whipping out behind her as she held up her hands to ward the arctic air from her face. Normally, Elsa didn't mind the cold, but something about this gale bit into her and chilled her to the bone. Even after it subsided, she was still left shivering uncontrollably.

She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her hands up and down her sleeves to try to encourage circulation. The frigid sensation continued to lay claim to her limbs, however. It was so bad in her legs, they were prickling all over. It was as though they had fallen asleep, only several times more painful. Trying to restore normal blood flow, she lifted one leg up, then stomped the foot down hard onto the ground.

Her arms flew away from her torso and began pinwheeling madly as the world reeled beneath her. She felt as if the ground was rising, rising, lifting her straight up into the air. She looked down to see that a sheet of iridescent crystal had taken shape beneath her feet. Even as she watched, intricate patterns spread outward from where her foot had landed.

Suddenly, the horizon disappeared around her as walls shot into the sky, growing until they towered far above her head. As she craned her neck upwards, the six vertical surfaces converged to a single sharp peak. Looking up at the vertiginous height made her head swim and she fell over backwards, landing heavily on her rump.

Architectural embellishments continued to take shape around her. Pillars reached upward to support the distant roof. Stairs sprouted from the floor and climbed higher and higher until they disappeared beyond a distant second floor that had somehow managed to grow straight out of the walls. Everywhere she looked, the structure was shifting, changing, expanding, as if it were a thing alive.

Then she caught sight of the most welcome feature yet: a door that appeared to lead to the outside. Scrambling to her feet, which wanted to slip on the glassy surface, she hurried to the opening... and found herself tumbling head over heels down a steep incline. Only when she finally reached the bottom, somehow none the worse for her precipitous exit, did she turn and look back at what she had just left behind.

Elsa gasped.

Impossibly delicate spires adorned the pinnacles of a breathtakingly beautiful palace. It seemed to glow, capturing and turning every slim ray of light that chanced to fall upon it. Some places reflected the gleam back like a mirror while others bent and broke it like a prism. Everything was sharp edges and hard lines, with hardly a curve to be seen. And yet, the overall effect wasn't harsh at all. It was triumphant, magnificent, a celebration of infinitely intricate geometries somehow made manifest.

She rose to her feet once again, still unsteady even on this far more stable surface, and gaped in unabashed wonder. What was this place? What was it made of? And how had it come to be here, where there had been nothing at all mere moments ago?

Her eyes traced every facet, drank in every detail. It was unlike anything she had ever seen or even imagined before. She didn't know how she could possibly find the words to describe it to anyone else, which was a shame. Since she didn't know where she was, how could she ever bring anybody here to show them its glorious splendor? At the same time, how could she keep this to herself, never able to share it with anyone else?

Then she realized with alarm that the castle was slowly beginning to recede from her, or perhaps she was pulling away from it. Only now she wanted to hold on. She tried to draw herself back closer again, sorry that she had rashly escaped it in such a terrified hurry. There was nothing which she could grasp, however, that would arrest her slow and inexorable retreat. So instead, she tried all the harder to fix the image in her mind – to capture every little nuance, shape, and shadow in the hopes that she might visit this place again someday, even if only in memories...

• • •

Elsa awoke with a startled exclamation and a vivid image still painted on the canvas of her mind. Determined not to lose it, she did not even bother trying to reach down to grab her pad and pencil. Instead, she simply rolled off the bench onto the floor where she scooped up both items and began to draw feverishly, like one possessed.

There were so many fine lines to lay down that she feared they would all merge together into a single muddled mess. Still, she dared not let such concerns slow her hand. She was terrified that the image might slip away before she captured it fully, and such a loss would be unbearable. So she continued to plunge ever deeper into the complex web of details that she knew must somehow resolve themselves into an amazingly elegant whole.

In the end, only one detail of any importance was omitted from the image that she managed to capture. It was one that she herself had not even noticed, as fascinated as she had been by the beauty of the radiant structure itself. In truth, it was only a small thing, though it might have tainted her appreciation of everything else had it registered upon her senses.

But so it was that she failed to include the small figure of a black haired girl with an eerily familiar face, who had been standing upon the balcony of that splendid palace. This girl had spent the entire time studying Elsa with the very same intensity that the princess had directed toward all the graceful turrets and spires.

Elsa had unknowingly chosen a much more accurate name for her dream-bound doppelganger than she had even realized at the time. Danger can be exceptionally subtle, and is often difficult to even notice until the time is much too late. It can lie in wait for an eternity, until some hapless fool unknowingly stumbles into its arms.

And Fare, like her namesake, was nothing if not patient.

**A/N: I think I may need to take a break from "Falling Snow" for a while.**

**Please understand, I don't intend to abandon this story. I have poured far too much of myself into it already to want to leave it unfinished. After all, I've worked on it continuously for nearly six months now, averaging a little under ten thousand words a week. It's just that, unlike Pabbie, I appear to have misplaced the fun somewhere along the way.**

**I suspect there are many reasons for this, some of which have absolutely nothing to do with the writing itself. Regardless, I just feel like I need some time to recharge my batteries so that I can come at it again fresh and from a better place.**

**I'm not sure what form this break will take or how long it will last. It may be that I continue to update, only at a greatly reduced frequency. It may be that I keep writing but refrain from posting for a while, in order to build up a comfortable backlog so that I don't feel so much pressure to crank out something new each and every week. It may be that I need to set the writing aside completely for a time until I can get back into a better head space.**

**No matter what, I want to thank all of my readers once again for your amazing support and encouragement. I'm terribly sorry to leave you in the lurch like this, and I can only hope that most of you will still be here whenever I manage to make it back. My deepest gratitude and love to you all.**


	11. Gambles and Strategies

**A/N: I am plagued with the mixed blessing that is perfectionism. I think that's largely why I stress out so much about my writing. It's also the reason that, only a few days after I announced that I needed a break, I was back to writing anyway. Once I've started a project, I really can't stand to leave it unfinished!**

**That said, some compromises are in order for the sake of my own sanity. So for the foreseeable future, I'll be cutting back my update frequency to something more like a single chapter a week. It's amazing how relaxing it is to allow myself some evenings when I can simply not write at all.**

**But you didn't come here to read about me. On with the story...**

The brave paladin faced a wall of grimly determined defenders. There was no break in their line, no gap in their ranks. They were prepared to sacrifice themselves to protect their liege, if fate and their commanders decreed it to be. Of course, such action would not be their first choice. They would much prefer to send this enemy of the crown back to their masters, humbled and undone, as a prize befitting the execution of such a righteous campaign. Whether or not he was still in one piece when presented unto the royalty was not even a matter worthy of much consideration.

He knew that he could not stay where he was, or they would surely have him. He could retreat, and hope that an opening might form should they choose to pursue him in undue haste. Their captain was cunning, however, and the mounted warrior did not believe for a moment that he would allow such a foolish mistake. The troops were too disciplined, and had made not a single false move even as he had danced up and down before their formation, taunting and harrying them.

No, he could not stay. Nor could he flee. Only one option remained for the valiant champion. And so, with reckless abandon, he charged straight at the enemy. To their credit, they did not move. Only at the last possible second did he dig his heels hard into his horse's flanks. The animal, as lost in the heat of battle as its rider, pushed off the hard-packed turf and leaped with all its might. Its hooves barely cleared the stalwart picket line. Then, horse and rider thudded down safely upon the far side.

How long that safety would last was another matter.

• • •

"That was a rather bold move," Agdar observed as Elsa withdrew her hand from the black knight. "Quite theatrical, even. But might we be extending ourselves just a little too far, hmm?"

The princess leaned back in her chair, but her eyes remained firmly fixed on the board in between them. Her scrutiny shifted this way and that as she surveyed the state of the contest. Unfortunately, she feared her father might be right. There wasn't much encouraging to be seen, as far as she was concerned. Her pieces were heavily outnumbered. Just keeping enough back to provide even basic protection for her king meant that she had very little left with which to mount any sort of offensive against her opponent. It seemed likely that at this point, all she was doing was delaying her inevitable defeat.

Still, she wasn't ready to concede just yet. She thought that she could see one slim chance, a long shot that was more of a gamble than a strategy. It could backfire on her so easily, but it wasn't like she had all that much to lose at this point anyway. So she dared to attempt the unorthodox maneuver.

She glanced up at the king's face and watched him study the game in like fashion. He had been pressing his attack most determinedly. In fact, this had been the first time in the last several moves when Elsa hadn't been forced to immediately respond to an imminent threat of check. That she had taken such an opportunity to move one of her pieces away from its defensive posture straight into the midst of the white ranks was certainly unexpected. She could see her father attempting to work out what the gambit might mean.

Which meant that it was also time to put the other part of her plan into action.

"Tell me," she began in a casual sort of way, "what do you think of this new stable hand? I think his name is Josef, isn't it?"

It wasn't especially unusual for them to talk during their games. This was, after all, a chance for the two of them to spend some time together beyond the often dull routine of lessons. Of course, when a match was particularly challenging, then conversation tended to dwindle as both players concentrated closely on each and every move. So in part, Elsa was hoping to leverage the rather lopsided nature of the current match ever so slightly in her favor. If she could subtly convince her father that there was no particular need to think all that very hard...

He did not take his eyes from the board, but he did raise one hand to scratch thoughtfully at his chin. "Hmm. Well, he seems like a very nice fellow. And he definitely appears to know a thing or two about caring for horses. I think he should do quite well by us, if I'm any judge of character at all."

"I'm glad to hear that. All I've really heard about him so far has come from Anna, but she certainly seems to be... impressed by him. Given how she always dotes over her horse, it says something when she credits Josef for helping her learn to understand Adelen even better than she did before."

"Really?" Agdar said "I can't seem to recall her saying anything like that over dinner. Then again, she has talked quite a bit about the good Mr. Mikkelsen, so it's certainly possible that I might have missed words to that effect somewhere amid all the rest." They both smiled at Anna's well known penchant for effusive chatter whenever she got particularly excited.

"Well, if nothing else, she at least seems to have made a new friend. That's good too. Anna's not the sort to handle solitude well. She's always happiest around other people. That's one thing that she and I have never really had in common."

"We all need other people, Elsa," her father replied. "Even the shyest amongst us needs company from time to time. There are always things that we can't do alone, things that are just easier with a friend by your side."

At last, the king made up his mind. He reached out and, with no discernible hesitation, made his move.

Elsa blinked. Then she blinked again. He hadn't seen it. Whether her distraction had done its trick or whether he was simply too preoccupied with maneuvering into position for checkmate, he had failed to realize the significance of her knight's advance. She looked over the board again, convinced that she must be missing something that he had seen, and which would render her plans moot. To be perfectly honest, she really hadn't expected this ploy to actually work, so she found it far more likely that she had been the one to overlook something and not her father.

Whatever she might have missed, however, she still could not see it. Even so, she had only the narrowest of windows. If she didn't move now, then the carefully planned assault by the white forces would box her king in completely and that would be the game. Bold action at this precise moment, though, could take out the linchpin of that attack. It was nothing close to a guarantee of victory, but it at least might give her a fighting chance.

Silently, she moved her remaining bishop so that it was in position to attack her father's queen.

Agdar leaned forward, his hand starting to move in anticipation of the next play that he had already thought out in his mind. It stopped halfway to the board, however, as the nature of this new situation finally dawned on him. Then it withdrew as he considered his predicament, his head cocked slightly to one side in consternation and surprise.

"You've pinned her down," he declared, conveying with his voice just how impressed he was with his daughter's little ruse. "There's only one place she can go to avoid your bishop, but then your knight will take her instead. Well played. Very well played indeed." His eyebrows drew together as he set about the unpleasant task of deciding which of those pieces he would let take his queen.

For her part, Elsa was already pondering the options that would follow this exchange. She suspected that her bishop would be required to make the capture, if for no other reason than it would draw yet another of her pieces further away from the king's defense. Besides, simply leaving the queen where it was would allow her father to start repositioning his remaining forces for a revised attack that much sooner. Even with white's most powerful piece taken out of play, her chances of eking out a victory still remained exceedingly slim.

Sure enough, her father opted to advance one of his pawns, thus allowing the white queen to fall where she stood. Elsa looked down at the piece as she lifted it from the board. She felt the weight of it once again, in her head if not in her hand. Even now, she still experienced a little shiver along her spine whenever she held it. In a way, it almost gave her another reason to be thankful for her gloves. She felt that her bare hands might somehow sully this tiny little thing that she had come to view as very nearly sacred.

"Father, how did you ever manage after Aunt Primrose left?"

The question escaped her before she even knew it. Nor could she say what had caused her to ask it today of all days. After all, this was the first time she had ever actually prompted him about one of (what he liked to call) their history lessons. Many weeks – and many chess games – had come and gone since he had last spoken about his past. So what was so special about this day, this game, that had brought those words to her tongue?

Agdar spent another second or two in silent contemplation of the board. Then he straightened up in his chair again and looked across the table at his daughter.

"You have no idea how many times I've asked myself that same question."

• • •

"Well done, Your Highness! You very nearly almost had me that time."

Agdar briefly turned an annoyed glare upon the speaker before he remembered himself. Pulling his composure back into place, he nevertheless couldn't quite prevent the touch of sharpness that crept into his reply. "I sometimes think you enjoy our lessons a little too much for your own good, Wexel." He took a step back toward the older man, then winced. "Or mine, for that matter," he concluded, reaching back to massage the offended spot on his backside.

His instructor smiled and shrugged. "I keep hoping that the flat of my sword will eventually teach you what my words apparently still have not. You continue to overextend yourself when you lunge. It leaves you off balance and hopelessly open to a counterattack. You have to keep your weight centered at all times, so that you're free to move in whatever direction you need to. When you suddenly drive one leg so far forward like that, then you lose that ability to react until you've draw it back in and regained your stability. While you're busy doing that, you're practically begging any competent opponent to take advantage of your carelessness."

The prince nodded. He understood what the sword master was telling him, of course. It all made sense, and he knew perfectly well that he consistently made the same mistake over and over again. The difficulty came in trying to get his body to listen to his brain once the duel began. At that point, he rarely had time to think. He had to trust his muscles to respond in the way they had learned that they must. Unfortunately, he sometimes found that his body had apparently picked up the wrong lessons. The unlearning of such bad habits was never a simple matter.

"Again then?" he asked.

"They're your bruises, Your Highness," Wexel said, lifting his blade in a salute. Agdar returned the gesture, and then both men brought their swords back to guard position.

Now the dance began.

Master and pupil began to circle a common center, each stepping carefully so as to always maintain his balance while keeping his weapon between himself and his opponent. This was the part of the fight in which each duelist supposedly sized up the other, searching for weaknesses. When two men had sparred together as often as these two had, however, that was something they each already knew.

Agdar was well aware that he still had far more gaps in his technique than the man he now faced. Then again, he also knew that he was steadily managing to close those gaps. He would never be able to dedicate the same single-minded focus to perfecting this art form in the way that Wexel had. Still, he was determined to become the best swordsman that his time and abilities would allow.

He suddenly slid his feet forward, looking to drive the other man back the same distance. The superior swordsman only grinned, however, then tipped his blade forward and tapped Adgar's lightly. The sound of steel on steel shivered through the still morning air. Frowning slightly, the prince gave back the little ground he had gained, then continued to wait for that ineffable something that indicated the time was ripe to make his move.

Wexel apparently saw it first, however. His advance was not a tentative feeling out as Agdar's had been. He closed the distance between them suddenly, his saber moving even as his feet brought him forward.

It was a backhanded sweep designed to knock the prince's sword far off to the side, thus leaving his body exposed for the return swing. This propensity of Wexel's for suddenly shifting the sword to his off hand was one of the many things that made him such a formidable opponent. It was also one of the skills that Agdar still could not emulate. He had, however, learned ways to defend against it.

He took a half step backward, so that his sword arm was temporarily pulled away from his attacker. At the same time, he dropped his blade slightly and shifted the angle somewhat toward the horizontal. With the weapon held diagonally across his chest, he managed to remain mostly guarded while at the same time allowing Wexel's blade to whistle past. In the next instant, Agdar brought his right foot forward again, lifted his elbow, and thrust his own saber out before him. The combined leverage of his pivoting body and extending arm caused the tip of the weapon to shoot out with remarkable speed.

Naturally, however, Wexel was no longer there to receive the attack. He had allowed the momentum of his own swing to carry him into a spin, then actually rolled off Agdar's left shoulder. Indeed, as the prince had stepped forward, the corresponding backward movement of his weaker side had only helped to propel the other swordsman behind him.

In turn, Agdar capitalized on the power behind his own spin. Planting his front foot, he pivoted. His left side swung around so that he was suddenly facing the opposite direction. Simultaneously, he lowered his right hand and brought his sword back to a near vertical position – just in time to catch Wexel's sweeping blade.

Steel slid along steel until the hand guards met with a clack.

"Better," Wexel acknowledged before he disengaged, pushing off sword against sword in an attempt to off-balance his opponent. Agdar was unwilling to oblige, however, and merely used the impulse to dance back a few steps and get well out of the older man's reach.

But despite conceding that small bit of ground, Agdar was not willing to surrender the initiative again. He immediately began to advance in a sideways sliding shuffle that always kept his sword arm out in front and presented the slimmest profile for possible attack. Per his mentor's advice, he took great care to maintain a proper center of gravity, never allowing his feet to get either too close together or too far apart.

This time, Wexel did not remain in place in the face of his oncoming foe. While keeping his saber up in a defensive posture, he began to circle backwards quickly, attempting to find a larger target surface and a better attack angle. Agdar adjusted his vector of approach to keep that from happening, and soon the two were circling each other once more.

That was when the prince saw him, beyond Wexel's shoulder as their wary circuit continued. There in the doorway, seeming very nearly to fill it, stood his father. Ragnarr's arms were crossed over his chest and his face wore a grim glower. Agdar knew that look only too well. The king was merely waiting to once again be disappointed in his son.

His expectations were nearly met right then and there, as even that brief distraction was enough to convince Wexel to make his next move. He bore fiercely down upon Agdar. There were no showy off-handed swipes this time. Instead, he harried the prince with a determined series of shorter but still brutal strokes. Agdar blocked and parried like mad, struggling to defend against the onslaught and finding himself steadily retreating against the ferocity of the attack.

He was finally able to put an end to his backpedaling only by actually jumping away from the advance and then swinging his sword in an extended arc.. This forced Wexel to draw up short to avoid the tip of the blade. Agdar took advantage of this momentary lull to now step forward and bring his sword sweeping back the other direction, requiring his instructor to at last give ground in his own turn.

Now Agdar brought his blade back up to a more neutral pose from which he was better prepared for either attack or defense. There was no question in his mind, however, which course he needed to pursue. His saber flashed in a series of short, swift strikes that forced the other man to block blow after blow. Indeed, Wexel even slid backwards a step, then another, in his attempts to find room to maneuver around the glinting steel. A feral grin spread across the prince's face.

Never before had Agdar managed to press his mentor this hard. The relentlessness of this assault was driven by an inner fire that had ignited deep within his gut and now seemed to be raging throughout his entire body. This was his chance. He finally had an opportunity to prove his mettle, to show the sort of man that he was, to make perfectly clear what the future King of Arendelle could really do... To not be a disappointment.

And yet, a small voice whispered above the roar of that fire, it would change nothing.

Wexel dropped back another step. It was nearly impossible to tell from his face how hard the man was being pressed, except that his lips were set in a thin line instead of the usual cocksure smirk that they normally wore. Agdar did not step into the newly formed gap, however. Instead, he slashed his sword toward his opponent's midsection. The stroke was deflected away, but he quickly redirected his blade back for a diagonal swipe from hip up to shoulder. Wexel only just managed to spin in time to bring his saber into a blocking position, the two blades dragging along one another with the sound of ringing metal.

Agdar did not need to look at the king again to know that Ragnarr's posture and demeanor had not changed. Nor did he need to see this punishing attack through to the end to know that there was quite simply nothing he could ever do that could possibly redeem himself in his father's eyes. Seventeen years under this roof had proved that beyond any doubt. He had spent too much of that time trying to please, or at least appease, this one man – a man who appeared to possess a deep-seated and immovable need to hate him beyond any and all sense or reason. A victory here would not change that.

Wexel had withdrawn far enough that his body was now beyond the reach of the prince's sword. From this distance, the duel could only be a clash of steel upon steel. The sound of those collisions continued to fill the air like deranged church bells.

But one day, Agdar thought to himself, there would be a different king seated upon the throne of Arendelle. Perhaps he ought to give more thought to making that man proud instead. Perhaps he should have started doing that long ago.

In less time than it took to blink, Agdar made his decision.

He shifted most of his weight back onto his trailing left leg. His right foot rose up off the floor, then drove forward as the prince fired his right arm as far out in front of him as he could. His sword was a mere extension of his arm, neither wobbling nor wavering in the slightest, just a single straight line from blade tip to shoulder.

Agdar felt the familiar sting across his posterior once again. He had been expecting it, of course. He welcomed it. He had practically demanded it, after all. And yet, he had a part that he was now expected to play, and so he did.

He winced as he straightened up and turned to face his sparring partner.

"I very nearly almost had you that time," he said without the slightest hint of irony.

Wexel nodded, but did not say a word. He merely pinned his pupil with a penetrating stare. Agdar returned it, unphased and unflinching, his face practically devoid of all expression. He'd had plenty of experience perfecting that look.

He saw Wexel's eyes dart briefly past his shoulder, then heard the sound of heavy boots beginning their retreat down the hallway. Neither man spoke until the echoes of those mighty footfalls had faded away.

"Why did you do that?" the older man asked, his eyes once again boring into Agdar's. "Why did you make such a stupid, reckless move?"

"You said it yourself," Agdar replied with a shrug, "I always overextend myself when I lunge. I know it's a problem, but it's one I'm just struggling to correct. You know what they say. Old habits and all that."

He could see in Wexel's face that the sword master was not falling for this fanciful tale. Part of becoming a truly great duelist with a sword is learning to read the subtle cues of body language that can telegraph what your opponent is about to do. This includes being able to recognize the difference between an upcoming feint and an actual attack. So he could absolutely believe that this man had read in Agdar's face, during the split second before his lunge, the fact that he had made a very deliberate and conscious decision. This had not simply been a case of the old quirk in his technique betraying him once again at the most inconvenient moment.

The prince was unspeakably grateful that his teacher was apparently just as good at picking up on those same nonverbal signals even when weapons were not involved. After inflicting Agdar with a few more seconds of his piercing scrutiny, Wexel finally nodded. "I suggest you work on that," he decreed. Then he spun on his heel and, sheathing his sword, walked stiffly out of the room.

Alone at last, Agdar blew out his cheeks. "I guess that's the end of lessons for today then?" he asked the empty room. Returning his own saber to its scabbard, he leaned against the nearest wall and waited. He wanted to give Wexel time to disappear from the corridors before he followed after.

More than that, though, he needed to be sure that his shaking legs would not simply give out from underneath him the second he passed through that door.

• • •

"I... I don't understand."

King Agdar drew his attention back from his youth and instead focused on his daughter on the far side of the chessboard. The confusion on her face almost rendered her words unnecessary.

"I'm sorry," he said with the hint of a smile. "I guess I'm not the best storyteller. Why don't you tell me what's confusing you, and I'll do what I can to clear things up."

Elsa looked back at him, but she did not say another word at first. She seemed to be struggling to even figure out where to begin. Finally, she lowered her eyes to gaze at the white queen that she still held in her hand. That small symbol seemed to be enough to break through her indecision.

"Well, for one thing, I asked how you managed to cope with your father after your sister left. But your answer was to tell me a story about sword fighting. I... I guess I don't see what one has to do with the other."

"Ah," Agdar nodded. "Yes, it wasn't the most direct answer, was it? You'll have to forgive me. I've not allowed myself the chance to revisit those bygone days all that often over the years. I'm afraid I get a little lost in the memories sometimes and forget the point I'm trying to make. But there was a point to that particular tale, I assure you.

"After Primrose departed for Corona, I found myself with an abundance of time and a shortage of friends. I suppose my situation was rather like that of a favorite target of the biggest schoolyard bully. Otherwise decent people may fear to be seen making friends with such a child, for fear that they might become a target themselves. Few people besides Prim ever dared to stand up to my father. As such, few were ever willing to intercede on my behalf.

"However, there were still a few who stuck by me, even if only because it was their job to do so. My teachers, for instance. By that age, much of my formal education was behind me, so that wasn't a particularly large group. What was left, however, I threw myself into with a passion. I suppose it was an escape of sorts, and one of the few avenues where I could expect to earn a little praise for a job well done.

"Now I had always enjoyed my lessons with Wexel more than all the others. There was something about the art of the sword that appealed to me. To this day, I can't say what exactly it was. I think, however, that it might have reminded me in some strange way of my games with Prim. Even though the two seem radically different, there's an element of strategy that nevertheless connects them. You have to understand your opponent, the way he thinks. You have to learn to predict what he might do next, and be ready to counter it. And both also teach you that, no matter how good you might become, there will still be times when you _will_ lose, and there is no shame in that fact."

Agdar paused and considered Elsa thoughtfully for a moment before he continued. "There was another reason why I chose to tell you about that specific match, however, and it had nothing to do with the particulars of thrusts and parries. It had everything to do with my father's presence at the end."

"That was the other thing I didn't understand," Elsa interrupted. "It sounded like you could have defeated Wexel, and yet you chose not to, even though your father was there watching."

"_Because_ my father was there watching," the king corrected. The princess's expression once again reflected the fact that his words made no sense to her whatsoever, and so he continued his explanation.

"I had spent most of my life up to that point looking for a way to appear worthy in the eyes of a man whose good favor was rarely a sign of a person's good character. Even after my sister repeatedly warned me against measuring myself by his ruler, it wasn't easy to break free from that pattern. Every son wants to make his father proud.

"That day, however, as I was bearing down upon Wexel with such a violent fury, something finally clicked. It happens that way sometimes. When you least expect it, your view of the entire world can suddenly shift. I realized that, at that moment, I was burning with the same all-consuming rage that drove my father. I was so incensed that all I could think about was proving to him how wrong he was about me.

"Actually, that's not true. To be perfectly honest, I was barely thinking at all. Every emotion that I had held inside and hidden all those years was taking over, and I was very nearly out of control. That was when I realized that if I allowed myself to continue, if I gave myself over to it, then another day could arrive all too swiftly when I would look into the mirror and see staring back at me the face of the man who had tormented me my entire life.

"Then I thought of Prim, and of all she had ever done to protect me and shield me and to show me what family was really meant to be. Suddenly, it seemed like very poor repayment to abandon everything I had become because of her in favor of what I could so easily become because of our father.

"And I knew then that, if I ever allowed myself to travel that road, then I would suffer a worse fate than not being able to meet my own eyes in the mirror. I would never be able to look my sister in the face ever again."

"But... couldn't you have just stopped then? Or found a different way to fight without that anger? Or... I don't know. It's just... Why did you choose to lose the way you did? I don't understand what that proved."

"It finally became clear to me that, since nothing I could do would ever change my father, the only way I could possibly hope to improve my situation was to change myself. The problem was that Father was absolutely certain that he had beaten me down. If I dared to defy him, he would stop at nothing to break me again. So as I said when I was telling the story, I now had a part to play. I had to live down to his low expectations, so that he would never think I might have the potential to become something more."

Agdar grinned. "I've often found it useful to be underestimated."

And with that, he reached out to the chessboard and made his move.

"Mate in three," he declared.

Elsa stared down at the arrangement of pieces, searching for some way to escape that dire prediction. He was perfectly correct, of course. His victory was inevitable. Shaking her head, she tipped over her king, then looked up at her father.

She couldn't shake the feeling that there was so much more to him than she would ever possibly know.

"Well, I think that's enough for today," he said as he slapped his knees and then stood. "Don't forget, no lessons tomorrow. It's Midsummer's Eve, after all."

The princess rolled her eyes but smiled all the same. "I don't think I could forget that even if I wanted to. It's all Anna's been talking about for the last week."

"It always was one of her favorite holidays. More so now than ever, I think, even if she does miss you at dinner and the bonfire."

Elsa's smiled faded, just a little. Then, with only a small effort, she restored it to its former state. "Oh, I suspect she'll be looking to somebody else for company this year."

Agdar lifted his eyebrows. "Really? Is this something I should know about?" He watched as a touch of pink darkened his daughter's cheeks.

"Oh, I thought you... Never mind, it's nothing really. Certainly nothing to worry about. It's only..." She shrugged. Even if her father and mother hadn't noticed Anna's infatuation yet, it would only have been a matter of time. She just hadn't thought she'd be the one to tip them off. Now that she'd let the hint slip, however...

"You'll see tomorrow night, I'm sure," she finished.

Her father gave her an odd look. In the end, though, he judged from Elsa's shy smile that, whatever small secret she held, it did not appear to be a cause for undo concern. Besides, a single day's wait was not so very much after all. Then, if his older daughter was to be believed, he would have the answer for himself.

"Fair enough, then," he agreed. "Lessons or no, your mother and I will stop by sometime tomorrow anyway. There's no reason you should be left out of the celebrations entirely. So until then..."

He would have kissed her on the forehead. He wanted to at least touch her shoulder or squeeze her hand. Elsa still wasn't ready for that, though, and she continued to draw away from any attempts at direct physical contact. So he had to settle for the emotional shorthand upon which they had eventually settled over the course of the last year.

Agdar touched two fingertips to his lips. Then he lowered his hand and, smiling, placed those fingers above his heart. Elsa's small smile grew broader as she returned the gesture.

"Love you, princess."

"I love you too, Papa."


	12. Moments in Midsummer

Ellinor sat in a corner of the kitchen and attempted to master the complicated art of carrying on a conversation while not being noticed.

This was simultaneously easier and harder than it sounded. The hustle and bustle of preparations for the Midsummer's Eve feast meant that, purposefully tucked out of the way as she was, the somewhat frantic kitchen staff were far too preoccupied to pay her much heed beyond an occasional, "Pardon me, Your Majesty." The difficult part came from trying to make herself heard over the banging of pots and pans, the clatter of dinnerware, and the gabble of so many other voices trying to coordinate all their various activities.

The challenge was made all the greater by the fact that the voice attempting most of that coordination belonged, quite naturally, to Gerda herself.

"No, no, Karina. You can't put those in the ovens this early! They have to be served hot, and we can't afford to keep them warming that entire time. We have too many other dishes in need of cooking, baking, and broiling to be taking up space for food that already ought to be done. Yes, that's much better. Those should only take an hour and then they can be set out to cool. Just keep an eye on them and make sure they don't burn, there's a good lass."

"And Henrik," she called out to a man she spied walking out the door, "you best be careful with those glasses. Break another one and it's coming out of your pay! Practice your juggling on your own time." This last sentiment was merely a quiet grumble to herself, since Henrik had already hurried out of sight.

Finally, she turned back around, absentmindedly wiping off her hands in her apron despite the fact that she hadn't touched anything to soil them since their last cleaning only a minute earlier. Sparing a quick glance for her long-time friend, she asked, "Now, what were we talking about again?"

Ellinor hid her smile behind the rim of her cup as she took a hasty sip of tea. That was why her voice was a touch muffled and seemed to echo ever so slightly when she said, "Oh, I had only just mentioned how much fun the Midsummer's festivities always are for the castle staff."

Gerda shot her a look that, if it could have been made audible, would have sounded like a disparaging snort. "Yes, well, those festivities don't begin for hours and hours yet, now do they? Until then, there's still work to be done, and plenty of it. Feasts don't just prepare themselves, after all."

"You know," the queen said in that careful manner which always indicates that the speaker is about to state something painfully obvious, "a fair few of these ladies have worked here in the palace kitchens at least as long as you have, and a handful even longer. I should think you wouldn't have to oversee every little detail first hand."

"I don't and I'm not. If I did, I wouldn't be over here talking to you, would I? I'd be over there, watching over Olette's shoulder to make sure she doesn't... Olette, what in heaven's name are you stuffing into that bird?"

Ellinor very nearly choked when her suppressed laughter threatened to drain her tea down her windpipe. She coughed repeatedly into her hand, her eyes watering slightly as she watched Gerda storm across the kitchen and yank the bowl away from the younger woman. She couldn't make out her friend's words over all the rest of the hubbub, but she could read the essence of it from Olette's suddenly scarlet face.

Fortunately, the queen managed to compose herself again before Gerda returned, shaking her head and mumbling a few well-chosen phrases that Ellinor quite politically opted not to hear.

"Perhaps I ought to leave," she offered as she set down her cup and saucer and began to get to her feet. "You're clearly very busy, and the last thing I want is to get in the way."

"Oh, sit down and stop fretting." The older woman dismissed such concerns with a careless wave of her hand. "I'm not so old yet that I can't carry on a friendly little chat just because I'm keeping an eye on a dozen other things at the same time." And though her face remained pulled down in a grumpy frown, there nevertheless was an unmistakable twinkle in Gerda's eye.

_Like I said,_ Ellinor thought to herself, _the staff certainly do enjoy themselves this time every year._

"You and Kai will be joining us down at the bonfire again tonight, I hope. After your usual anniversary celebration, of course."

"Of course, Your Majesty. We might be a little late, but we will certainly be there. Which reminds me, thank you again for the lovely bottle of wine. It was an incredibly thoughtful gift."

"It was the least I could do. I just hope I chose well. I'll admit, wine is not my specialty, but I was assured it was an especially good year for that vineyard."

"Well, as always, you're welcome to join us and find out for yourself."

"And you're welcome to celebrate your little anniversary with us at the head table during the banquet," the queen replied with a smile.

Gerda chuckled and shook her head. "Even if I wasn't otherwise occupied, don't think you'd get me up there so easily. So many people watching you eat, from appetizers all the way through to dessert. Gracious me, no! Honestly, I don't know how you manage to not get indigestion from it all."

"Years of practice," Ellinor explained, "along with some of the best food in the kingdom."

"Some of? Who else has been feeding you? And if they're so good, why aren't they here today helping with the cooking?"

The queen held her hands up before her in self-defense. "My apologies. Poor choice of words on my part. Everyone knows, of course, that you are by far the finest cook in all of Arendelle."

Gerda's head bobbed once in absolute agreement, her mock indignation apparently soothed. Still, Ellinor found that she simply could not let her friend off quite that easily.

"Also the most modest," she added as she picked up her cup and once again lifted it to her lips.

She was wise enough this time so that she only pretended to sip her tea. Had she indulged for real, she was not at all certain she could have prevented herself from spraying it back out in a fountain of mirth at her friend's indignant spluttering.

When Gerda finally got herself back under control, she gifted Ellinor with another look that very few people would have dared to inflict upon royalty. "I better never hear you blaming me again for any mischievous streak your girls might have picked up," she said dryly. "Honestly, with a wit like that, the kingdom should consider itself lucky that you aren't the one negotiating terms with its trading partners."

"Now you know perfectly well that I would never say anything to offend a diplomatic visitor..."

Gerda cocked an eyebrow. "The Duke of 'Weaseltown'?"

"...where they might hear it," the queen amended. The fit of laughter that followed was shared by both women, and drew more than a few curious looks from the nearby kitchen staff.

"Oh, I am so glad that there's still room for that sound in these halls," the kitchen headwoman sighed as their merriment subsided.

The sudden stiffness of Ellinor's smile then made Gerda wonder if she might not have just pushed their familiarity a little too far. Perhaps she should have been a little more circumspect, at least in the presence of all these other people. Only belatedly did she recognize that what she had meant to be encouraging words might just as easily be viewed as a condemnation of the situation that required them to be said in the first place.

Before she could frame any sort of apology, however, the queen's face softened again. "So am I," she agreed. "That's why things like tonight's celebration are so important. They give us all a chance to forget our cares for a little while, even though we know they'll still be waiting there for us again tomorrow."

There was a sudden loud crash and clangor from the other side of the kitchen, followed by the gloppy sound of thick liquid striking the floor. Gerda momentarily let her eyes slide shut as she groaned under her breath. "Sometimes, they don't wait that long," she said resignedly. "Pardon me again, Your Majesty."

The queen took another sip of tea as (with no small amusement) she watched her dear friend march back across the room and begin haranguing the poor soul who'd had the misfortune to knock the large pot off the stove. The young assistant was quickly learning, albeit in an especially loud sort of lesson, a fact that Ellinor had known for years now. Gerda could be the most thoughtful and understanding person you'd ever care to meet. She could also be a frightening force of nature if you crossed her at the wrong time or in the wrong place.

In her kitchen on Midsummer's Eve met both of those criteria quite handily.

• • •

"Are you ready?" Ellinor asked as she poked her head into the king's study a few hours later.

Agdar lifted a finger without looking up. "Just a minute." He continued to scan the document that lay before him, eyes gliding quickly back and forth across the page while he tapped his chin absentmindedly with the back end of his pen. Finally satisfied, he dashed off a signature across the bottom, then stood and stretched.

"No rest for the weary, hmm?" she asked as he came out from behind the big mahogany desk to join her.

"Even on a holiday, the kingdom can't entirely run itself," he acknowledged. "Still, I suppose it wasn't all that bad. Mostly just correspondence I needed to catch up on. This morning seemed like a good time to do that, since I expected there wouldn't be much cause for interruption."

"Only me," Ellinor replied with a smile. "And our daughter, of course."

"Ah, but those aren't interruptions," he clarified. "They're diversions. Different matters entirely."

"Well, I'm glad to know that we rank so highly on your list of priorities."

"Oh, absolutely! Elsa and Anna are number one, always, followed by Arendelle, its people, its prosperity, its alliances and political standing..."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

He scratched his chin as they walked side by side through the palace corridors. "Am I? I can't imagine what. Let me see. Yes, got that, mentioned that. I did include the kingdom's alliances, right? So what could I... Oh! Oh yes, I see now. Yes, you're quite right. How careless of me. I almost forgot Tønne! That horse and I have been through a lot together. Can't believe I almost forgot to include him in the list."

Ellinor was just about to reply with a particularly scathing comment regarding his questionable sense of humor when a sound from around the corner ahead brought her up short. Her arm shot out to stop Agdar too, but it was hardly necessary. He had heard the noise as well.

_Knock knock-knock-knock knock._

She almost turned around right there and then. It would be the polite and proper thing to do, after all. Or they could step into the next passageway and announce their presence openly. Eavesdropping around corners, however, was hardly appropriate for a queen and king

On the other hand, it was considered slightly more acceptable behavior for a mother and father of two unfortunately estranged girls.

"Elsa?" Anna's slightly raised voice came to them around the bend as clearly as if they were standing right behind her. "I... I brought you a present."

Agdar and Ellinor looked at one another, both feeling slightly uncomfortable about the situation, but neither willing to walk away now that they were here.

"It's a story," Anna continued. "I know this isn't our usual time for such things, but it's Midsummer's Eve after all. What with the banquet and the bonfire tonight, there won't be any time for me to stop by when I normally do. So I thought that I could read it to you now, if that's okay."

There was a pause, though Ellinor could not tell if Anna was simply getting comfortable or if she was allowing time for an answer that she almost certainly did not expect to come. Whatever the reason, it was followed by the barely audible rustle of paper, and then the young girl's voice began again:

Once upon a time, there were two sisters who loved each other ever so much. The younger girl in particular completely adored her older sister. She admired her and looked up to her. She wanted nothing more than to grow up to be every bit as beautiful and smart and kind, although she knew she never could, of course.

Then one day, a terrible monster swooped down upon their village. He was an evil and ugly thing, so bent and twisted with age and malice that it was impossible to tell what sort of creature he might once have been.

Perhaps he had once been covered in short, bristly hair, but most of it had now fallen out. Only small patches still remained, scattered haphazardly around his black body.

Perhaps he had once possessed teeth like the sharpest knives, but most of them had fallen out too. Now only two broken fangs jutted out from behind his cracked and snarling lips.

Perhaps he had once had eyesight keener than any hawk's, but now one eye had gone milky white with blindness. The other darted every which way, seeming to search for something in every last corner of the small town.

For even though the terrible beast was half blind, still he coveted all things beautiful. In his lair, he kept a collection of many magnificent treasures of gold and silver and brilliant gemstones, but this was never enough to satisfy him. So every now and then, the creature would leave its dark dwelling and scour the lands far and wide for more plunder.

But it was a very poor village he had chosen today, and those who lived there possessed no gold, nor silver nor gemstones of any sort. So it was that, in his search for beauty, the monster found it in a most unexpected form. When he saw the older of the two sisters, he new that this was without a doubt the most beautiful thing the village had to offer. This was what he would add to his collection.

Now the only things on the fearsome beast that were still as mighty as they had ever been were his wings. They were most like a bat's, but of immense size and strength. So no sooner had he grabbed the young maiden than he shot into the sky with a single powerful stroke of those vast sails. A few of the village hunters loosed arrows after him, but he had already risen well beyond bowshot before they had even nocked their arrows.

At that moment, the younger sister returned from the woods where she had gone to pick berries and wildflowers. Looking up at the sound of fading screams, she saw the creature speeding away with her sister gripped tightly in his clutches. Without another thought, she ran after it as fast as her little legs could carry her. But soon she, like the basket of berries and flowers, was left far behind.

Not knowing what else to do, she continued her pursuit anyway, trying ever to travel in the same direction as best as she was able to tell. After all, she had never seen the monster turn or otherwise change course before it had finally vanished from sight.

The girl journeyed onward for days. Every so often, she would pass another small town or a farm house. Then she would stop and ask if they knew where the monster lived. Always they would point her in the same direction, but no one could ever tell her how far she had yet to go.

So she continued for weeks until her shoes were worn to tatters and her skin had grown dark under the scorching summer sun. Homesteads became fewer and farther between, but whenever she found one, she would tell her story and ask the same question. The folk in that part of the country were kind and always took pity upon her. They would give her food and a place to rest for the night. And they would always answer her question by pointing once again in the same direction. Each morning, she would set out again in pursuit of her sister.

Months passed in this fashion. Her hair had been parched and bleached by the sun until it was now the color and texture of straw. Her clothes had been torn to ribbons by countless thorns and briars. And she found herself deep in the wilderness. She hadn't seen another living soul for days, and autumn was quickly fleeing in the face of the oncoming winter. Wild berries and nuts were becoming harder and harder to find, and her walk had now become more of a perpetual stumble due to her weariness and hunger. Yet she continued onward, ever heading in the same direction, never knowing when or if she might reach the monster's lair.

Then one bitterly cold night, she could finally go no farther. Upon a narrow mountain pass, her legs gave out beneath her. Yet as she lay there, nearly beyond all hope, she lifted her eyes to the path ahead. Then, in the thin moonlight, she thought she could just make out a deeper darkness against the black face of the mountain. With the last of her strength, she managed to drag herself forward until at last, she collapsed just within the mouth of the cave. Then, the darkness took her.

She was surprised merely to awaken at all the next morning. But what made her heart nearly stop in her chest was the sound that echoed out from the still darkened depths of the cave that seemed to bore straight into the mountain. She knew that sound. How could she ever forget it? It was the voice of her sister, raised in quavering song.

Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and began to crawl along the rough stone floor. Sharp rocks bit into her palms and shins, but she couldn't be bothered to feel the pain. It was all she could do to keep moving forward, ever so slowly, ever in the same direction.

Suddenly, the narrow tunnel opened up into a huge cavern. Even though it was barely lit by the fitful glow of only a few sputtering torches, still the unmistakable glitter and flash of gold and silver and brilliant gemstones surrounded her. But she had eyes for none of it. All she could see was the lone figure sitting upon a low stool in the middle of the room and singing to the great black bulk of the monster that towered over her.

"Sister," she croaked in a voice that she barely recognized as her own. The song abruptly stopped, replaced by a sudden gasp. Then came the sound of another voice that was most definitely not her sister's. It sounded like great rocks being split asunder by mighty hammer blows.

"Who dares intrude upon my home?" it boomed out.

"I am no one," she replied weakly. "Only the sister of one you have taken. I have pursued you for days and weeks and months until at last I have found you."

"And what do you want of me?" The mighty voice echoed off the stone walls.

"I want nothing," she answered, "except to remain by my sister's side."

"But only beautiful things may remain here." The voice dripped with scorn. "Look at you. Your skin is like leather. Your hair is like straw. Your clothes are in shreds, and your arms and legs are not much better off. Why should I allow something so hideous to remain here amid such beauty?"

To this, the girl had no answer. It was her older sister who spoke instead.

"There is beauty in this world that cannot be seen. The sound of a rippling brook. The smell of a rain-kissed flower. The feel of a cool breeze on a warm day. The heart of a person who would give up everything they have to help another. What greater beauty could you ever hope to add to your collection than that?"

The monster considered this for a very, very long time. Finally, after much deliberation, he announced his decision.

"Very well. You may stay."

And so the two sisters were reunited. In time, the younger girl was nursed back to health, and she joined her big sister in tending to and singing for the dark creature. The three of them together made a sort of life for themselves, strange though it might have seemed.

But perhaps the strangest part of all was that the monster never again ventured out into distant lands to pillage far flung towns and villages. For never again did he feel the need to add any greater beauty to that which he already possessed.

Anna's voice fell silent. Her parents stood just out of sight, staring at each other in amazement at what they had just heard. Three people had listened to that story. Not one of them dared now to speak.

"I know it's not that good," Anna spoke again at last. "I've been working on it for a long time now, trying to make sure it was absolutely perfect for today. Then suddenly, I realized that it _was _today. I did the best I could, but I'm sure the ending wasn't what it should have been. Nothing like what you could have done, of course.

"Anyway, I hope you didn't mind it too much. I'll have a real story again for you tomorrow night, so at least you shouldn't have to wait too long. Thanks for listening, though. I'll just leave it here for you." Ellinor couldn't resist peeking around the corner just long enough to see the pages disappear through the gap beneath Elsa's door. Then Anna straightened up and laughed a little nervously. "If nothing else, you can always use the backs of the pages for some of your sketches."

The princess paused for a moment, then leaned forward and rested her forehead against the elaborately painted wood. She brought one hand up beside her and traced the outline of a royal blue diamond with her finger. When she finished, she covered the shape with her palm, then spoke one last time.

"Have a wonderful Midsummer's Eve, Elsa."

Ellinor drew back quickly, grabbed Agdar by the arm, and hurriedly dragged him down the hall at a near run. They ducked into an empty room whose door was already standing open, then simply hid behind the wall until they heard the sound of footsteps pass in the corridor outside.

"Did you know..." Agdar began in a whisper. But Ellinor lifted a finger to her lips, then shook her head in answer. Carefully, she peeked out into the passageway. Once satisfied that Anna was nowhere to be seen, she gestured in the direction from which they had just fled.

"Come on. Something tells me we had better check on Elsa." Agdar nodded his agreement.

Seconds later, they were back at the door. The queen hesitated for a brief moment, then rapped lightly upon the white wood. "Elsa? Elsa, your father and I are here. May we come in?"

When she did not immediately receive a reply, Ellinor feared the worst. She was just about to knock again when she heard the click of the bolt being drawn back. Then the door swung open to reveal her elder daughter.

Elsa stood just inside her room. Tears stained her cheeks, but there was also a smile upon her lips. She hiccuped, and her smile grew a little broader.

The pages of Anna's story were clutched tightly against her chest.

• • •

Ellinor felt her husband's elbow nudging her arm, gently but insistently. A forkful of roast pheasant paused halfway to her mouth as she turned to him with a quizzical expression. She then watched him silently tilt his head in an attempt to direct her attention with his eyes, the point of his chin, and the lift of an eyebrow.

Following his gesture, she turned away and found herself looking at their younger daughter, who was seated on her other side. Anna, however, seemed to be completely oblivious to the combined attentions of both her parents. She wasn't looking at either of them or at the half-eaten food upon her plate. Instead, she was staring out into the crowd of faces that were engaged in jolly merrymaking at the other long tables in the dining hall. Nor was hers the aimless stare of one simply lost in thought. The freckled princess was most definitely looking at something or someone in particular.

The queen tried to trace her daughter's line of sight, but it simply was not possible. Nothing obviously unusual stood out to her among the seated staff and their families. If there was some singular person upon whom her no-longer-quite-so-little girl was so completely fixated, the hall was too crowded to have much hope of discerning who that might be.

She turned her eyes back to Anna, feeling somewhat confused. So their daughter was watching somebody out among the crowd of people. She couldn't see anything particularly odd about that. Why then had Agdar bothered to draw her attention to it? Was he simply indicating his continued amazement about Anna's little tale from that afternoon? She could only assume he was still every bit as flabbergasted as she was. Or had he seen something that she was missing? She didn't understand.

And then, there it was. Anna's steady gaze did not waver in the slightest, but her shoulders rose and fell ever so slightly. Her eyelids drooped a fraction, and a dreamily disconnected sort of smile curled her lips.

Ellinor's eyes grew wide and round in surprise. She whipped her head about to face her husband, who was looking back at her with a bemused grin.

"Anna?" she mouthed silently. He nodded.

"Our Anna?" she mouthed again. And again, he nodded.

"Who?" He shrugged, but Ellinor could see that his eyes were dancing in the bright light of the lamps that illuminated the feast. He seemed singularly unconcerned by this development. If anything, he appeared to find it rather amusing.

The queen wished that she could share his relaxed attitude. She turned back to the room at large and began another, more thorough search of the faces. There were a number of boys and girls more or less Anna's age scattered among the tables: children of the castle staff who were reveling in this once-a-year treat. Her eyes leaped from one to the next, trying in vain to guess which one might have caught her daughter's fancy.

She glanced back at Anna and then made another attempt to follow the direction of her gaze. It took a moment, but at last she spotted him. There he sat, one table off to the right. He wasn't saying much to his neighbors, but he appeared to be listening with interest as he industriously conveyed heaping forkfuls of food into his mouth. Ellinor quickly sized him up with her keen regard.

He was older than Anna, there was no question about that. His face was pleasant enough, and might in another few years grow to be worthy of the term rugged. The clothes he wore were simple, but clean and neat. Clearly, he had put on his best outfit for this special occasion. His blond hair was somewhat unkempt, but it soon became clear that was not entirely his fault.

When the woman beside him turned away to speak more intimately with her neighbor, the taller lad seated on his other side – his brother, most likely – quickly ran his knuckles through the boy's hair in an extremely vigorous manner. The queen couldn't hear the younger child's exclamation over the general hubbub, but his mother clearly had. She turned back around to see what all the fuss was about. Naturally enough, the older sibling was already facing the other direction, pretending to be completely engrossed in the conversation of two men further along the table.

Ellinor remained unsure what she ought to make of all this. But then, perhaps there was nothing to be made of it at all. So Anna had spotted this boy tonight and, for the first time, some part of her had woken up to the fact that boys might be interesting as more than just playmates. Well, that was perfectly natural. It was all just a part of growing up, wasn't it?

Her breath suddenly caught in her chest, and for a brief instant, the room turned a little bit blurry.

Oh heavens, her little girl really was growing up! It was too soon. She wasn't ready. But then, had she allowed herself to imagine that, with so very little changing inside these walls since the closing of the castle gates, her little girls would somehow remain unchanged as well?

She hurriedly blinked away the thin mist that had covered her eyes, and the room stuttered back into focus. She drew in a short, sharp gulp of air, then allowed her breathing to return to normal as well.

"Anna," she said quietly. Too quietly, apparently, for the princess seemed totally unaware that anyone was addressing her at all.

"Anna," the queen said again, a little louder this time.

Her daughter blinked in surprise as the sound of her name finally registered. She straightened up in her chair and turned. "Yes, Mother?" she asked

There was so much that Ellinor wanted to say then. She wanted to beg her daughter to never grow up. She wanted to tell her all the things that a woman needs to know. She wanted to caution her, but she also wanted to encourage and reassure her. She wanted to offer protection and guidance. She wanted to let her know that, even during those times when she might be on her own, she could never go too very wrong if she only followed her own heart and did what she knew to be right.

Anna continued to look at her expectantly. Her face was bright with the happiness of possibilities newly discovered and not yet explored. There was an eagerness and an excitement there that was so perfectly Anna. Her normally indomitable high spirits had been a little more grounded ever since Elsa's voice had again fallen silent for her. Ellinor had seen that reserve on her daughter's face even earlier that very same day. To see her heart starting to take flight like this once again... Well, there were no words. And that was precisely what the queen found herself with now.

"Mother?" the princess prompted again.

Ellinor simply nodded toward the plates set out on the table before them. "Finish your vegetables, dear."

• • •

The rest of the banquet passed by with little else of note, except perhaps for the return of a dessert course that they had not seen for many a year. When the final dishes were set in front of the royal family, Ellinor immediately glanced once more at her daughter, somewhat concerned about what her reaction might be to the unexpected surprise.

For a few seconds, Anna just stared at the new arrival. Then a fresh smile slowly spread across her face. She scooted forward on her chair, pulled the flat-bottomed bowl toward herself, grabbed her spoon and, with great gusto, tucked into the fluffy column of raspberry soufflé.

Three years ago, Anna had spent the Midsummer's Eve feast in a very different sort of distraction. Instead of looking out into the crowd, she had spent most of that meal in energetic conversation with her neighbor at the high table – not with her mother, but with her young friend Marie. The girl and her parents had been special guests of the royal family that night, and Gerda had prepared Marie's favorite dessert in honor of the occasion.

Seven months later, a heartbroken Anna had stood on the docks and watched her friend sailing away back to France. The soufflé had not been served again since. Ellinor wondered whatever had inspired Gerda to bring it back tonight. She would have to remember to inquire about that later.

A few minutes later and the final course of the evening was finished. Then Agdar rose to his feet, cleared his throat, and proceeded to deliver his customary short speech to their guests. In return, he received their usual polite attention and occasional laughter. After all, there was a reason the king generally chose to save his words until after the meal. You could almost always count on full bellies making for a more congenial audience.

Once Agdar finished, the hall quickly began to empty to the sound of scraping chairs and the resumption of dozens of small conversations. Most of the assemblage began to make their way down to the water's edge for the lighting of the traditional bonfire. One in particular seemed especially eager to make the journey.

"Come on, come on!" Anna urged her parents as she tugged impatiently at her father's hand. "Hurry up. We don't want to miss anything!"

Agdar smiled and, unless Ellinor was quite mistaken, actually slowed his pace a little. "I'm fairly certain they won't start without us, Anna," he said as he winked at his wife. "And it's such a beautiful night. I think I'd like to take my time and just enjoy a quiet, peaceful stroll with my family."

Anna groaned in exasperation. "It's quiet and peaceful all year round! This is the one night where I get to have a little fun and excitement."

"So you're saying that spending time with your mother and me isn't fun?" Agdar asked, clearly taking undo enjoyment in his needling of their younger daughter.

"No! Well, I mean yes, of course it is, but... that is, I just... I only meant that..." Anna's face creased as she scrambled to find a way out of the corner in which she had inexplicably been trapped.

"Tell you what," Ellinor chimed in, taking pity on the poor girl. "Why don't you run along ahead? Your father and I will find you when we get down there."

Anna's eyes lit up. "You mean it?" she asked, her eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

The queen smiled as the princess practically bounced into the air in her elation. "Oh, thank you, thank you! I'll see you down there then, okay? Take your time. Don't worry, I'll be fine." She kept having to raise her voice to compensate for the ever greater distance that was growing between them, for she was already drawing away in her eagerness. Suddenly, as if she had been pulling against an elastic band that had abruptly snapped, she turned and sped off. "Bye!" she called back over her shoulder.

"You be careful!" her mother called after her.

"I'm always careful!" Anna yelled back. Then she caught up with the trailing edge of the crowd, which was already halfway across the bridge to the mainland, and disappeared amid the mass of bodies. Ellinor craned her neck and was able, for a short while, to catch brief glimpses of strawberry blond braids dodging this way and that through the throng. It was only a matter of seconds, however, before their daughter was completely lost to sight.

Beside her, Agdar chuckled, then slipped his newly freed hand into hers.

"You're taking this remarkably well," she chided him.

"What 'this' are we referring to?" His face was the picture of innocence, but for the rakish twinkle in his eye.

"Our daughter," Ellinor clarified dryly, "appears to be in love."

"Our daughter is growing up," he replied. "They tend to do that at this age. But love? No, I don't think so. An infatuation, certainly, but I can't see any harm in that. Actually, I find it rather comforting."

The queen raised her eyebrows. "Please, do explain that logic to me that I might benefit from your abiding wisdom." Given her husband's past predilection for overprotectiveness, his odd calm now was not at all what she would have expected.

"Well," he began thoughtfully, "neither of our daughters have exactly had a normal childhood, have they? And yes, Anna hasn't been nearly as isolated as her sister, but she's still hardly spent any time with other children her own age for the last five years, except for Marie.

"These are the years that will shape her into the person she will be for the rest of her life. There are few things that imprint themselves quite so indelibly upon the soul as the traumas of our youth. That Anna, despite everything, is still capable of having such a perfectly normal reaction as this gives me hope – both for her and for Elsa.

"It means that maybe our mistakes haven't been quite as catastrophic as I've feared. Either that or perhaps our girls simply have far greater reservoirs of inner strength than I ever dared to imagine. One way or the other, I can't help but consider it to be an encouraging sign. I think we can both agree that we can all use every bit of encouragement we might find."

Ellinor did not reply right away. But as they stepped off the bridge onto the docks, she drew herself closer to his side so that they now walked along shoulder to shoulder. Their unhurried pace had left them quite alone. The press of bodies that had preceded them was now so far ahead that not a single murmur drifted back to their ears, save for that of the water lapping quietly against the pilings of the piers. A gust of colder air from across the sheltered bay caused her to shiver slightly. Agdar released her hand and draped his arm about her shoulders.

Together, they walked down to the stony shoreline where the castle staff and their families all clustered around the towering pile of firewood. Some of the younger children, tired of waiting, were already running about with unfettered excitement, chasing after each other in one happy game or another. The deepening darkness did not seem to bother them in the slightest.

At a signal from the king, burning torches were thrust deep into the heart of the dry logs. The kindling crackled and caught. Tongues of flame, their appetite quickly whetted by the smaller twigs and branches, began to lick hungrily at the larger chunks of wood. With the help of some careful stoking by those nearby, a very merry blaze was soon going strong, bathing all those nearby with its warmth and light.

Now that the approach of night had been fended off for a while, Ellinor began to look around for Anna. There were enough people milling about that she was unable to spy her daughter right away. Then she happened to catch sight of the blond-haired boy she'd spotted from the high table as he came up to briefly warm himself by the blazing fire. She waited, peering into the crowd behind him, expecting to see a familiar freckled face come following closely behind.

After a minute or two, the boy turned as if in response to a call. Then he hurried off, squeezing through the ring of people around the bonfire. The small gap that opened up for him quickly closed again with his passing. Anna had not appeared. Was it possible hers had been the voice to which the youth had responded?

The king was engaged in a lively conversation with a few of his closer advisors when Ellinor finally caught a glimpse of red hair and green fabric through a gap between bodies. She took a step or two away from his side to get a better look at her daughter with the lad who had so clearly captured her fancy.

"Agdar," she called out. Her hand rose behind her, reaching in his direction, beckoning him to her. She did not turn her gaze toward him, however.

"Excuse me, please," she heard him say. Then she felt his hand grasp her questing fingers. "What is it, dear?" he asked as he drew alongside her.

"Look. Look there."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him turn his head to follow her gaze. "Ah, you've found Anna," he began. "I'm glad to see she's enjoying herself tonight too." Sure enough, Anna was laughing most happily. "And she seems to have found some rather agreeable company with whom to pass the time. So, does this mean we now know the identity of her young swain?"

Finally, Ellinor turned away to look at her husband. Then she realized that, from his angle, Anna's companion would be almost entirely blocked by several other people who stood in the way. So she took a step to one side and drew him over to stand in the spot she had just vacated. He glanced at her with a grin, then turned back to peer at their daughter once again.

The queen watched as Agdar's eyebrows did the most peculiar dance. They couldn't seem to decide whether to climb up his forehead in surprise or draw downward in consternation.

Either way, the equanimity he had displayed during their earlier discussion was somewhat lacking when he at last spoke.

"I do believe that I will need to have a talk with the good Mr. Mikkelsen."


	13. (Love) Letter

Anna, as a rule, did not usually spend much of her day in her own bedroom. For one thing, it was too quiet. Most of the time, she preferred to be surrounded by the noise of other people, even if they were merely going about their own business and not paying her any mind at all. It was also too small. Oh, it was perfectly fine for sleeping and dressing and whatnot. If anything, it was more space than she really needed. All the same, there weren't many rooms in the palace large enough for an energetic girl who still preferred a run through the gardens to a quiet cup of tea. Well, unless perhaps the tea was accompanied by a generous plate of krumkake.

Then of course, there was also the little matter of the associations her mind tended to draw when it came to princesses who spent too much time alone in their rooms.

Even when she needed to work on an assignment for Prof. Engelstad, she would often as not sit at the table in the dining room, or in the parlor or the library. Now and then, she would even just flop down on the floor somewhere with her books and writing instruments.

There were times, however, when she welcomed the quiet and privacy that came from sitting in her own small chair at her own small desk in her own little corner of the castle. And for one reason or another, that seemed to be particularly true whenever she settled in to write a letter.

It didn't matter that there was really only one person to whom she ever actually bothered to write.

–––

_Dear Marie,_

_Congratulations on your recital! I was thrilled to hear that it went so well. Not that there was ever any doubt, of course. I'm sure you always turn in an incredible performance. Ever since that very first time you played for us, it was obvious just how amazing you are with the violin. I'm so glad that you've been able to continue and that you still enjoy it so much._

_As always, I wish I could have been there to cheer you on. Except they probably don't cheer at music recitals, do they? Well, I would have clapped for you then. You probably would have been able to pick me out of the crowd, too. I'd have been the one who quite clearly hadn't mastered the whole idea of polite applause yet._

_How is school? I know how happy you were when you got to start attending again. It must be wonderful to be back around others your own age. I'll bet you've made lots of new friends, too._

_Actually, believe it or not, I've made a new friend myself. Well, I'm not entirely sure that friend is the right word..._

• • •

"Mr. Mikkelsen."

Josef had heard the purposeful footfalls as they'd approached, so the voice that clearly accompanied them did not come as any particular surprise. That was reserved for when he glanced over his shoulder and recognized the person who had made both sounds.

"Your Majesty!" he said, spinning around and promptly descending into a bow. The look he saw on the king's face as he straightened again immediately sent his mind racing back over the last few days. Plainly, he had done something wrong. It would be useful if he could quickly figure out what it might have been. That would make apologizing for it significantly easier.

Agdar, his face stern, examined the teen intently. For his part, Josef simply did his level best not to squirm beneath those penetrating eyes and the imposing scowl. It didn't help that a few of the other stablehands, who at first had been too busy with their own work to notice the king's entrance, had now abruptly stopped whatever they had been doing and were watching the two men with poorly concealed curiosity.

The king had apparently also noticed the additional interest his presence was drawing. "Come with me, Mr. Mikkelsen," he instructed quietly. "There is something I would like to discuss with you in private."

Josef felt the bottom of his stomach suddenly fall away. What had he done, what had he done, what had he done? Any minor infraction could have been dealt with quickly enough right there in the stables. Yes, it would have been embarrassing to be dressed down in front of the rest of the lads. Still, that was something they had all seen happen from time to time. He would have endured a few days of good-natured ridicule because of it, but it would have been forgotten soon enough.

Whatever anyone might have guessed this to be about, however, the king's request had just made it clear that it was about ten times worse.

Agdar did not wait for any sort of reply or acknowledgment. He simply turned on his heel and marched out the nearest open door. Josef hurried to follow. By this point, his mind had given up trying to figure out the nature of his apparent blunder. He was instead attempting to decide how far away he would have to move in order to find someone who would actually hire him after it became known that he had been unceremoniously fired from his brief service to the royal family.

The king soon stopped in a discrete and unoccupied corner of the courtyard. Then he turned back around, pinned Josef one again with his intimidating glare, and spoke.

"Allow me to be blunt, Mr. Mikkelsen," he said. "I wish to know your intentions toward my daughter."

Josef just stared. Clearly, he must have misunderstood something. He replayed the words again in his head, but that didn't seem to help much; they made exactly as little sense the second time.

"Beg your pardon?" he managed at last. He'd been so completely thrown for a loss that he couldn't even begin to feel self-conscious about the fact that his voice had come out in a somewhat panicked squeak.

Agdar crossed his arms and somehow found a way to appear even more imposing. From the look on his face, it was quite clear that he suspected the young man who stood before him was being intentionally dense, and that he did not appreciate this in the slightest.

"The Queen and I have seen the way our daughter looks at you, the way she acts around you. Please refrain from doing me the discourtesy of pretending like you have not noticed it yourself."

"Princess Anna? Well, she is a sweet girl, of course. Very friendly and incredibly curious. But – if I may say so, Your Majesty – she also seems to me to be rather lonely. So when she came to me apparently looking for a bit of companionship, I couldn't see any harm in obliging her."

"You obliged her, did you? What exactly did this obligation entail?"

Josef blinked, still feeling utterly bewildered by this line of questioning. "We... talked, Your Majesty."

"And what did you talk about?"

"Uh, let me think... Well, horses, of course. She's incredibly fond of Adelen, so that was something we obviously had a common interest in from the start. She's had all sorts of questions about their care and about my experiences tending to them. I really haven't minded answering her. It isn't like I'm giving up any trade secrets, after all.

"For some strange reason, she also seems to enjoy listening to even my most boring stories about the people I met while I worked at the inn. Not that I don't have my share of odd tales too, mind you. I mean, with all the people who are always passing through, some truly unique characters are bound to cross your path from time to time. There was this one gentleman..."

Agdar's unabated glare convinced Josef that now was perhaps not the right time for one of his more colorful anecdotes. Under that scrutiny, the young man felt sure that his answers so far had been found to be lacking. Could he have said something inappropriate to the princess? Was that what this was all about? He continued to dredge the depths of his memory in an attempt to remember.

"What else, what else? I guess she's told me some of what it's been like for her, growing up here in the castle. She's been curious about my family too, though there really isn't much to tell on that score, I'm afraid. Sometimes she talked about things she's learned in her lessons. I supposed we've shared a few jokes along the way too.

"Honestly, I'm afraid I just can't remember the details of every conversation I've had with the princess, Your Majesty. But if I said something that offended her or offended you, then I am sorry. It was just friendly chatter."

"Just friendly?" Agdar repeated back at him.

"Yes, of course," he replied. Then, confusion momentarily overriding his caution, he added, "What else would it be?"

"Our Anna," the king said grimly, "appears to be rather smitten with you."

Josef gaped, dumbstruck. The next instant, he felt a laugh beginning to bubble up inside his chest. His cheeks pulled apart as his mouth widened in a smile. It was only at the last possible moment that he realized the potential folly of laughing in the face of the King of Arendelle, particularly given the expression currently worn by that face. He clamped down on the pending outburst as hard as he could. The resulting noise came out sounding something like a half-swallowed sneeze.

Adgar plainly did not share in his amusement. "Do you find this funny, Mr. Mikkelsen?"

"No, Sir. Well, at least, not exactly. It's more that... I'm just having a hard time believing it, I suppose."

"Are you trying to tell me that you haven't seen this yourself?"

"To be perfect honest, Your Majesty, I wasn't looking. It's not like I ever sought your daughter out. She would come down to the stables, and we would talk while I was working. Most of the time, my mind was only half on our conversation. I still had my job to do, after all. Which isn't to say that I didn't enjoy the company. A bit of friendly chatter always helps the day pass more quickly. But I swear, that's all I ever thought it was, when I thought about it at all. I mean, she's a princess after all. And she's only ten years old!"

"Try telling her that," Agdar muttered.

The two men looked at each other in silence. Josef wanted to let himself believe that he saw a hint of uncertainty starting to show around the king's eyes. All the same, he deemed it unwise to simply stand there waiting in the hope that an apology might soon be offered. Better to make the next move himself.

"The last thing I wanted to do, Your Majesty, was to displease you in any way. So if it is your wish, I will stop talking to Princess Anna immediately. Or rather, I will say only enough to discourage all such exchanges going forward. I know my place, and I do not wish there to be any appearance of impropriety."

At last, with a sigh, Agdar shook his head. "No, I do not believe that will be necessary. Anna hasn't had the opportunity to make a new friend in far too long, and I would hate to be the one to deny her that pleasure. More to the point, I cannot hold you accountable for whatever sudden fancies may have gripped her of late.

"I only ask you one favor – not as your king, but as Anna's father. Be good to her. Be her friend. But do not toy with her affections, even if they are only a young girl's whimsies. I am willing to believe that you were simply unaware of them until now. That is no longer the case, and so is no longer an excuse. Anna is young and in many ways still naive, but she has already endured more than her fair share of heartache. Do not add to that, or I will see to it that any distress she suffers is repaid double. Are we clear?"

Despite the other man's now level and reasonable tone, Josef still felt his Adam's apple bob with a reflexive gulp. King Agdar was one of those men who had learned that it was possible to intimidate without actually being intimidating. He did not need to speak loudly or indeed change his voice from its normal tones. Nor did he need to make any show of physical superiority. Rather, he simply managed to convey the absolute steadfastness of his convictions, along with his complete certainty that his orders would be obeyed.

Few things are as formidable as a person who knows exactly what he wants, precisely where he stands, and the most direct route to get from one to the other.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Josef finally said with a nod.

"Good." The king considered Josef appraisingly before he spoke again. "I suspect that I now owe you an apology for impugning your character. You will have to forgive me. I am, for the most part, a reasonable man. When it comes to my daughters, however..."

"Please, Your Majesty. You are the king. You needn't apologize to me."

"We are both men," Agdar corrected him. "When I assumed the worst of you, I damaged my honor and your reputation. Such things matter, regardless of station. It's why all good people are gifted with a conscience, so they can know when amends must be made.

"Come, allow me to escort you back to the stables. Then we'll see what can be done about repairing both reputation and honor."

The stablehand did not know what to say, and so said nothing. Agdar did not seem to mind. Once again, he simply began to walk, clearly assuming that Josef would likewise choose to again accompany his king. This assumption was, of course, perfectly correct.

When they arrived at the open stable door, the younger man was startled to feel the king's hand suddenly clap him on the shoulder. "Thank you, Josef," Agdar proclaimed just the slightest bit too loudly. "It all makes perfect sense, now that you've explained it to me. I'm quite glad we managed to get you on staff. Do keep up the good work." Then, before anyone could say another word, the king turned and retreated back toward the palace.

Josef felt like he was beginning to make a very bad habit of standing around at a loss for words. So he opted to break the pattern by walking back into the stables. Words still eluded him, however, at least until one of the older handlers asked him, in a would-be casual sort of way, "So, ahem, what was all that about, eh?"

A pause, centered around the two men, seemed to spread outward as the rest of the hands stopped what they were doing and cocked an ear in their direction.

"Oh, you know how it is," Josef replied in an attempt at the same offhanded manner. "When the king has questions, a wise man comes up with answers."

The other man grunted an acknowledgment. Whether he really understood or simply wanted to look like he did, the result was the same. The rest of the stable workers took their cue from him. With the matter apparently having been quickly settled, they turned back to their respective tasks. Josef allowed himself to follow their example, even if for the rest of that day, his mind was perhaps not as focused on his job as it normally might have been.

And he'd thought working at the inn had made for an interesting life.

• • •

_He's really nice and he's so amazing with our horses. Did I mention that he's incredibly handsome too? Mostly, though, it's just wonderful to have someone to talk to who I haven't seen around the castle every single day for the past five years. You can only listen to the same stories so many times before you need something new._

_I suppose that's also why I'm always trying to find new stories to read to Elsa. I can't imagine how she does it. If I had to stay alone in my room all the time, with only Mother and Father for company, I think I would go crazy._

_Oh gosh, you don't think that's actually what happened to her, do you? I mean, she seemed normal enough for that year when she was actually talking to me. Well, except for the whole not-coming-out-of-her-room thing. But then she suddenly shut me out again, and that can't be normal, can it?_

_Oh, Marie, I just don't know. I always try to remember what you told me on the day you left. Actually, I don't have to try all that hard. I don't think I'll ever forget anything about that day. Anyway, the point is that you told me not to give up on Elsa, and I never will. But there are times when it's just so hard. I spent such a long time writing a story to read to her as a gift for Midsummer's Eve, but I don't even know if she still listens to me anymore..._

• • •

Elsa resisted the urge to rip the page out of her sketchbook, crumple it into a tight little ball, and fling it away from her – but it was a very near thing.

There had always been times when she had struggled to get an image out her mind and down onto paper, but this was one of the most frustrating such instances that she could remember. She had already filled numerous sheets with rough sketches and a few attempts at more detailed studies, but every single one seemed wrong in one way or another. And yet, she felt like she wouldn't be able to move on until she finally got it right.

Who would have thought it would be so difficult to draw an imaginary monster?

Ever since she had listened to Anna's gift on Midsummer's Eve, images from the story kept popping into her mind no matter what else she might be doing. The last scene in particular, when the sisters had finally been reunited in the creature's lair, had resonated deeply within her for obvious reasons. She didn't know how many times she'd reread the tale already, but every time she did, she felt the desire to try to capture some part of it in her own way. It was simply unfortunate that the monster was not cooperating.

The creature seemed to be so many things, and not just based on the loose physical description Anna had provided. To Elsa, it felt like there was even more going on beneath that surface. Yes, there was bitterness and anger and greed and other terrible things. But there also seemed to be wisdom of a sort, not to mention a deep sadness and loneliness. That was what she truly wanted to capture. She simply had not been able to figure out how to convey that inner turmoil on such a dark and forbidding visage.

So when the knock on her door was followed by the sound of her mother's voice, Elsa was more than ready to take a break.

"Hello, Mother."

"Good afternoon, Elsa," the queen said as she stepped inside. Crossing the room, she sat down on the cushions beneath the window and folded her hands upon her lap. As she glanced out over the courtyard, she added, "Lovely day, isn't it?"

Reclaiming the seat by her desk, Elsa also looked out at the sun drenched world beyond the glass and nodded. Without realizing it, she had mirrored her mother's reserved pose.

And as quickly as that, the conversation faltered. They both continued to gaze silently out the window, but Elsa soon began to wonder why her mother had made the effort to stop by if she didn't actually have anything to say. She had just about made up her mind to ask that very question when the queen finally turned. Even then, she did not speak right away. Instead, she looked intently at her daughter. Her eyes seemed to trace every curve of the princess's young face.

"You're going to be thirteen soon, Elsa," she said at last. Her voice had a wistful, almost melancholy lilt to it. "You're not a little girl anymore, even if you aren't quite a woman yet either. Still, that day is coming, and all too quickly for my liking. We're closer to it now than we are to the day when I first held you in my arms."

Ellinor broke off and once again studied her daughter's face. The princess wondered whether her mother was searching her features for remnants of that newborn babe or for hints of the woman that she was still becoming. She also wondered if, by some magic, she could herself be allowed to see those other Elsa's – the one she was and the one she would someday be – would she recognize herself in them?

"Certain recent events have reminded me that there are some things a young woman needs to learn from her mother, and not on her own." At this, the queen smiled. "No matter how intelligent she may be."

"These recent events wouldn't have anything to do with Anna and Josef by any chance, would they?"

Her mother started, then considered Elsa shrewdly. How intelligent indeed, she thought as her mouth quirked into a lopsided smile. "And just what do you know about your sister and Mr. Mikkelsen?"

The princess shrugged, her cheeks blushing pink. "Only what Anna has told me. Which," she admitted as her cheeks grew a little darker, "is probably quite a lot."

Ellinor's first reaction was a sense of offense and irritation that her younger daughter had not felt that she could tell her mother about such feelings. Hadn't she made it clear to Anna that she wanted her to feel comfortable talking to her about anything?

Those emotions passed swiftly, however, to be replaced by chagrin at her own ego. Hadn't she also told Anna that she would understand if there were some things she might want to keep to herself? More to the point, hadn't Ellinor also had a sister of her own growing up? When had she ever gone to her mother to talk about boys?

Yes, how quickly maturity forgets what it was like to be young.

"I'll admit, I'm rather jealous," she conceded. "There's a part of me that really wants to pester you for all of those little details. I mean, really _really _wants to. But I won't. That wouldn't be fair to either you or your sister. After all, it's only right that the two of you should be able to share things without..."

Only the pained look on Elsa's face made Ellinor realize what she had just said. Inwardly, she cursed herself for what had been an incredibly unfortunate slip of the tongue.

"Elsa, sweetheart, I didn't mean..." she began again.

"It's alright, Mother. I know." Elsa managed a tight little smile, then hurriedly returned to the original subject. "Father seems to think Josef – Mr. Mikkelsen – is a good man. You don't think he would do anything to hurt Anna, do you?"

Ellinor shook her head. "No, I'm sure he wouldn't. Certainly not after today." At her daughter's confused look, she explained, "Your father was going to have a little talk with him."

Elsa's eyes grew wide. "Poor Mr. Mikkelsen."

The queen's laughter filled the room, adding to the brightness that streamed in through the window. It was infectious enough that soon, Elsa joined in with her own quiet giggle. Yes indeed, Ellinor reflected, Gerda had been quite right. It was good to still be able to hear that sound within the castle walls. They all could use more of it.

"Oh, I don't think we need to worry for him too very much," she said when she finally began to regain control. "I'm pretty sure your father didn't take his sword with him." The look of horrified shock on her daughter's face only set the queen off again, and it was a good long while before she subsided a second time, dabbing at her eyes and gasping for air.

"That wasn't very nice of me, was it?" Ellinor confessed sheepishly.

"No," Elsa agreed. "But I won't tell Father if you won't." Her smile belied any censure.

"Yes, well..." The queen took a deep breath, somehow seeming to draw composure out of the very air of the room. "As I was starting to say earlier, there are a few things I feel we need to discuss. About women and men and..."

"And love?"

"That's part of it, yes."

"Then shouldn't you be having this talk with Anna instead?"

"I will, when the time is right. She's still a little too young at the moment, I think. Besides, I don't believe these feelings she's experiencing are actually cause for any great concern. Mostly, they just caught me by surprise, and..."

"That's... that's not what I meant," Elsa interrupted. When her mother gave her a puzzled look, she self-consciously lowered her eyes to her lap. Her hands began to fidget nervously before she finally made an attempt to complete her thought.

"It's just that... that... Well, I honestly don't expect that sort of love is something I'm ever going to have to worry about."

"Elsa," Ellinor began, but the princess shook her head.

"It's not like I haven't thought about it, Mother. What chance can I possibly hope to have for romance, here alone in my room? And even if the day finally comes when I somehow manage to work up the courage to leave again, there's still..."

She couldn't quite finish the sentence. She just stared down at her gloved fingers, now balled into tight fists. How could she share a love with someone she could never touch? Even if, by some miracle, she actually found someone who she could care about that deeply, and who might even care about her in return, that would almost be worse. Her mere presence would put them in danger. She could never let herself get close, for fear of hurting them the way she'd hurt...

No, loving someone like that meant always wanting to protect them, to know they were forever safe. And the only way she would ever be able to do that would be by staying as far away from them as she possibly could. Always isolated. Forever alone. How could she possibly hope to be anything else?

A shadow of movement drew her attention upward again. Then she rocked backward so suddenly that the only thing that kept her from toppling over was the back of her chair slamming into the edge of her desk.

Ellinor knelt on the floor only a handspan away, much further into Elsa's comfort zone than she had allowed anyone to approach in over a year. She felt her heartbeat starting to quicken. She withdrew her feet beneath the seat, then leaned back as far as she possibly could.

"Mother, please. I..."

"Not another word, Elsa," the queen ordered. Elsa could feel herself beginning to tremble now. She also found that she couldn't look away from her mother's piercing stare.

For the longest time, that was all Ellinor gave her, too. It didn't take long before the princess was desperately craving a word, any word to break the silence. The gaiety that had filled the room just a few scant minutes ago now seemed a lifetime away. She needed something to take her mind off how uncomfortably close they were to each other.

What would happen if she were to suddenly lose control now? She couldn't bear the thought. Her hands were almost spasming as she clenched and unclenched them rapidly, trying to draw strength from the feel of the fabric across her skin as she had so many times before.

"What are you afraid of?" her mother finally asked. Her mild voice was a surprising contrast to the continuing intensity of her gaze.

"You already know," Elsa managed in a tiny whisper.

"Tell me anyway."

"I... I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Why not?"

Elsa blinked. "I... Because.. Hurting people is wrong."

"I see. So is it also wrong to let someone get hurt if you could do something to stop it?"

"I... I suppose so."

"Do you remember when Anna was first learning to walk?"

The sudden change in topic left Elsa feeling uncomfortably disoriented. "I guess so."

"Remember how often she fell down?"

"That was different. Besides, she was never really hurt. Most of the time, she barely even cried."

"Remember when she first started climbing the trees in the garden? She fell down then too, didn't she? Remember how many times you both fell over while you were learning to ride your bicycle together? Or how about all the times that I'd find the two of you sprawled out on the floor amid a heap of metal after you'd run smack into a suit of armor?"

"Anna would run into the armor. I'd just end up tripping on the pieces."

"The point, Elsa, is that your father and I could probably have protected the two of you from all of those things, or at least a great many of them. What if we had? How boring would your childhood have been then?"

"But that's _different!_" Elsa declared again, though with a noticeable increase in volume. "You're talking about a few scrapes and bruises. What I'm capable of is so much worse."

"Do you think Marie regrets all of the wonderful times she spent down by the docks with her parents just because of what happened to her that one day?"

To that, Elsa found she had no answer.

"Do you honestly think she loves watching the tall ships any less now because of what happened? Do you think if Anna were given the chance, she would ever give up having known Marie just so she wouldn't have had to feel the pain when she left?

"Do you think she'd ever give up having you for her sister?"

Elsa felt her lower lip quiver. Dropping her chin to her chest, she slowly shook her head.

"Every day is a risk, Elsa. So is love. Both will bring pain and sorrow, sooner or later. And yet, we choose to take those risks because without them, there isn't much left. I took a chance when I married your father. I took a chance when I had you and then Anna. Each time I knew that, by giving a piece of myself over to this other person, I was going to be hurt. It was inevitable. I also knew that I would almost certainly end up hurting them too somehow.

"We all get hurt, sometimes by random accidents and sometimes by those closest to us. Anything can happen. But that's why we keep taking the chances – _because_ anything can happen, and that includes so many wonderful things too. I don't know what my life would have been like without you and your sister and your father in it. I can't even imagine it anymore. Maybe I would have found happiness of a different sort, who can say?

"But you see, I don't needto know! I have had enough wonders in my life to have made all the rest worthwhile, and precious little of that would have ever come to pass if I hadn't been willing to roll the dice and take a few chances along the way. There are very few rules you can count on in life, but one of them is that everything comes with a price. That means you have to be willing to risk both hurting and being hurt if you ever want the chance to feel love and happiness and joy.

"So please, Elsa, win or lose, don't forfeit the game before you've even had a chance to really begin to play."

Only then did Ellinor realize that she had been slowly leaning further and further forward, drawing steadily closer to her daughter in an attempt to impart extra weight to her words. Now she withdrew, pulling back so that Elsa could reclaim a little bit of the space she needed to feel comfortable again.

Still, the princess did not respond right away. It was always so difficult to tell how much of her parents' encouragement actually ever made it past the barriers that she had built around herself. The queen watched as Elsa bit her lower lip, a nervous habit to which both her daughters were prone. Even that was hard to read, though. It was equally as likely to manifest itself when they were anxious as when they were simply lost in thought.

Eventually, without raising her eyes, Elsa spoke. "I wish life was more like chess," she admitted with a slight tremor in her voice. "The rules are straightforward. As long as you keep planning far enough ahead, you're okay. If there are any surprises, it's only because you weren't paying close enough attention."

At last, she lifted her head just enough to meet her mother's eyes. "And there aren't any dice in chess."

"No, there aren't," Ellinor agreed sympathetically. "But life isn't like chess. Life isn't really like anything at all except... well, life. Make of it what you will, but it will never be more or less than exactly what you make of it."

With those words, the queen raised two fingers to her lips. Without breaking eye contact, she lowered them until they rested above her heart. As she watched Elsa return the gesture, along with a none-too-certain smile, her arms ached with the need to draw her daughter to her. She longed to comfort and shelter her and to make her _feel_ that everything would somehow be alright.

Almost as great was her need for someone whose arms could do the same for her. She knew that she would be sleeping close by Agdar's side that night.

• • •

_But listen to me, getting all __upset over probably nothing at all__. Better yet, don't listen. Or read, or whatever. I'm sorry. I started writing to congratulate you on your wonderful news, but then I guess I let this letter get away from me a little._

_Now I don't want you to go worrying about me. __You know how I am. __I'll be fine, as always. Really, I __ought t__o j__ust crumple this whole thing up right now and start over. __Of course, i__f I did that every time I started to ramble, you'd never hear from me!_

_I hope everything continues to __keep __get__ting__ better and better for you. I just know it will. Like I told you before, I'm still waiting for the day when I hear about the famous new French violinist who brings the crowd to tears and to their feet with every performance. No rush or anything, though. I'm patient. Okay, no, I'm not. Still, some things are worth waiting for._

–––

Anna's pen paused in its miniature skating exhibition while its owner straightened a little and reread the last few lines. What else was there to say? She really couldn't think of anything. There was only so much that happened within the castle walls from one letter to the next, and most of that was hardly worth writing about.

Once again, she wished that Midsummer's Eve could come more often. Better yet, she longed for the chance to explore everything that lay beyond the familiar grounds whenever she liked. Even the harbor town that clung to the foothills on the other side of the bridge remained mostly a mystery to her. She loved the palace and the gardens and all, but like her room, there were definitely days where it all just felt so very small.

Still, at least for the moment, she felt that she had written everything she needed to. Come the next letter, there would undoubtedly be more to tell. Now, however, only the tiniest bit remained unsaid...

–––

_In the meantime, __do __w__rite again soon. I can never read enough about __your __life in Paris. __I__f I can't travel the world, __then __your letters are the next best thin__g. __Of course, they're worth waiting for __too__. You just can't expect me to wait for too many things __all __at once!_

_Love __always__,_

_Anna_


	14. The Pride of Generations

**A/N: Looking at the lengths of my last few chapters, is it any wonder why I need a whole week to crank each one out now? Anyway, I'm really happy with how this one turned out. Hope you like it too.  
**

* * *

"When did you know you were in love with Mother?"

Agdar stopped momentarily to look across at Elsa before he finished lowering himself into the room's other chair. He'd only just arrived for the day's lessons, and they had barely completed the polite niceties, so the suddenness of her question had caught him well and truly off guard. "What brought this on?" he asked with obvious surprise.

The princess gave the smallest of shrugs. "I don't know." Now it was her turn to pause as she attempted to reconstruct the train of thought that had led her to such a question. "I suppose it probably started with Anna and her, er, friendship with Mr. Mikkelsen. Then Mother and I had a talk about... some things, which gave me a lot to think about. And while I was thinking, I remembered three years ago when Mother told me about the first time the two of you met and how your courtship began, and...

"Well, it almost sort of sounded like love at first sight. The way you went back to the marketplace time and again hoping to run into her. The way you kept asking around until you finally discovered that she was boarding with Gerda, then showed up at their front door with a bouquet of flowers and everything.

"I just wondered if, you know, it was really that easy to fall in love."

Her father's lengthy chuckle was not exactly the response she had been expecting. She felt herself beginning to blush at the apparent foolishness of her question. Seeing this, the king quickly reined in his laughter. After a second or two, which he spent contemplating his daughter quite seriously, he began to give his reply.

"Perhaps if you had asked me back then, then yes, I might have said it was love at first sight. But I was still so young. Young enough to be foolish about such things, at any rate. I had no true idea what love even was. The only love I'd ever really known at that point in my life was what I had shared with Prim, and obviously that was a different matter entirely.

"However, you ask me today, and so today I will tell you this. Curiosity may come that quickly. So can attraction. But love? Romantic love? That takes time. It takes work, not just at first but ever and always. If you forget that, then even the deepest love can fall to pieces as surely as any neglected thing.

"And I didn't mean to laugh at you, sweetheart. It was only that... Well, love is a great many things, but easy is not one of them."

• • •

The sound of clashing swords rebounded off the castle walls to collide once again inside the courtyard with nearly the same ferocity as that on display by the various paired combatants who faced off within those selfsame walls. Intermingled with those sharp, crisp notes were the raucous shouts of many raised voices, each valiantly struggling to be heard over the din.

"That's it! You've almost got him, Gerhard!"

"Come on, Peder, don't you be holding back now. That little prat still hasn't coughed up the money he owes me from last week!"

"Watch it, Thom! Watch it! You gotta remember to keep your guard up or... Ooh! Or that."

"You call that a fight, ya pansies? My little sister is scarier than the two of you."

"Yeah, I know. I've seen your sister!"

"How the bloody blazes did you do that, Agdar?"

The Crown Prince of Arendelle offered a hand to his opponent where he sat upon the flagstones. The soldier accepted the assistance with good grace and was soon back on his feet. Still, he looked at his sparring partner warily, with particular attention given to the sword grasped in the other man's left hand. Agdar, for his part, merely shrugged and smiled.

"He pays attention, that's how." Both men turned their heads to watch the approaching speaker. Even though he was addressing them, Wexel's eyes were still scanning the rest of the combatants, critically assessing each one's form (or lack thereof). Naturally, a swordsman which such exceptional talents was not responsible for Agdar's training alone. He also supervised the instruction of the men-at-arms when they rotated through the castle for their periodic tour on guard duty.

"I pay attention too, but that doesn't mean I can just change hands in the middle of a bout like that."

"Well, it also doesn't hurt that I've had years of personal tutelage by a swordsman with a particularly remarkable skill at off-handed dueling," the prince admitted drolly. "If you ever want to see that technique truly done justice, Fritz, just talk Wexel here into sparring with you one of these days. Compared to him, I'm still pretty embarrassing."

"Not as bad as some in this sorry lot," his instructor said with a grimace. "You could teach most of them a thing or two."

Agdar had actually been the one to suggest joining the castle guard for some of their training sessions, but Wexel had agreed readily enough. He'd felt that it was always instructive to fight against different opponents with differing styles. Plus, his recent comment had not been entirely in jest. He'd found that Agdar had developed sufficient skill with the blade that he could actually be helpful teaching some of the younger and rawer recruits – and even a few of the older ones.

At first, the men had been rather intimidated by having the royal heir in their midst. Anticipating their discomfort, Agdar had insisted from the start that they should all call him by his first name during their sessions together. Unsurprisingly, that had still been slow to take hold. It was only after he'd shared a few particularly humorous but rather bawdy tales, all of which he was fairly certain would not have been nearly as well received at court, that they finally began to warm to him. Now he was very nearly treated as just another soldier, though with the slight deference afforded to a well liked and respected officer.

He stood now beside Wexel, exchanging observations while they watched the other duelists. Fritz, who was already one of the more talented guardsmen when it came to wielding a blade, listened with interest to their comments. Part of the reason for his skill was his knack for learning not just from his own mistakes but from those of his fellows as well, so he always found the critical commentary of these two skilled swordsmen extremely enlightening.

Abruptly, Agdar stopped talking mid-sentence. He cocked his head to one side, listening. Just barely discernible over the continued raucous clanging of the mock combat, the true sound of ringing bells reached their ears. The prince swore under his breath.

"I'm going to be late. Actually, no," he corrected himself with a wince as the bells continued to toll, "I'm already late. Wexel, I've got to go. There's somewhere I need to be and someone I really should not keep waiting. I'm in for it as it is. Think you can handle this bunch on your own?"

"I'll manage, Your Highness. Off with you then, and be quick about it."

Agdar nodded his thanks, then took off at a trot. It had occurred to him that perhaps he might be able to reclaim a little of his lost time if he took a slight detour to his destination, so he now headed across the courtyard, his pace increasing with every step.

A minute or two later, the prince burst out of the castle gates, bent low over the neck of his dappled charger. He was lucky that foot traffic was light at that time of the day, but he still spent most of the mad dash across the bridge shouting hurried apologies at the unfortunate pedestrians who had been forced to dart to one side or the other to make way for the galloping hooves.

The broad thoroughfare of the docks, busy though they were, still allowed him to maintain much of that initial speed. He was forced to slow his pace somewhat, however, once he turned and began to wind his way up the twisting roads into the town proper. By the time he reached his destination, his impatience at the slow progress was getting the better of him. Of course, he only had himself to blame for the fact that haste had been required at all, which only served to add to his irritation.

Quickly dismounting, he hurried up to the door. While waiting for an answer to his knock, he took the time to flatten down his hair, straighten his jacket, and generally attempt to make himself somewhat more presentable. When he heard the sound of the doorknob beginning to turn, he looked up and put on his most charming smile. "Hello, Ellin-"

"You're late."

"Um, yes. I'm terribly sorry about that," he stammered.

"You're very late."

"Yes, I know. Again, my apologies. But, if I may ask, where...?"

The rest of the question died on his lips, a victim of the withering look that made him shift his weight uncomfortably where he stood. Having learned to deal with his father's constant scorn for so many years, it always surprised him to find that he could still be so thoroughly discomfited by somebody else. Then again, women were strange and mysterious creatures whose ways he did not think he would ever truly understand.

And Gerda was something quite beyond his experience.

She stood just inside the threshold now, arms crossed and a sour expression upon her face. Agdar briefly wondered what had happened to the respectful woman who had chastised her young charge the first time he had showed up at their door. Now the shoe seemed to be on the other foot, as it were. It was rather remarkable that, despite being Prince of Arendelle, he never for the slightest instant considered challenging her automatic assumption of authority. Of course, Ellinor had often spoken of Gerda as being like a second mother to her. Regardless of one's station, it's never prudent to antagonize the mother of the lady you are courting.

Agdar strangely found himself wishing he were wearing a hat, if only so he could now take it off in a show of respect to the queen of this particular dwelling. With that option denied to him, he instead bowed deeply, sweeping his arm across his midriff as he did so.

"My deepest apologies, milady. I have been woefully remiss in my obligations to you and certain other members of your household. I humbly beg your forgiveness for my abysmal lack of judgment, and I shall endeavor to make amends in whatever way that you deem prudent."

He maintained his bow even after he finished speaking, and so could not see the woman's expression to judge what effect his words might have had. The lack of any verbal response dragged on for several long moments. Agdar suspected that she was deliberately testing him to see how long he would be willing to remain in his deferential posture. At last, with a quiet noise of apparent satisfaction, Gerda spoke.

"Please come inside, Your Highness."

By the time Agdar straightened, she was already retreating from the doorway. He quickly stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and then followed her to the house's simple but eminently comfortable sitting room. Standing in the doorway, his eyes were immediately drawn to the lovely young brunette seated at the far end of the sofa. She, however, quite pointedly did nothing to acknowledge his arrival.

Gerda did not enter the room. Instead, she merely inclined her head toward her friend and boarder then turned to depart. Before she left, however, she gave the prince a look in which sympathy and sadness mingled in equal measure. Agdar spared only a second to wonder for whom those sentiments were intended. Then taking a deep breath, he moved to stand awkwardly by the unoccupied end of the couch.

"Ellinor," he began.

"You're late."

"So I've been told," he quipped. But instead of the simple aggrieved irritation he expected to see on her face, it took on a distressingly pained look. "Ellinor, I am terribly sorry. Truly. I just lost track of time, that's all. And I apologize for being flippant about it. I did not realize how upset you were." Nor did he understand why she should be acting so hurt. He'd always made it a point to be punctual to all their earlier rendezvous. Surely he could be allowed one slip in all this time.

"What am I to you, Your Highness?" she inquired in a quiet voice.

She still had not turned to look at him, but that did not wound Agdar nearly as much as her use of his title instead of his name. Feeling suddenly unsteady, he lowered himself to the empty cushion beside her. He also found himself horribly aware of his hands, unsure whether he ought to try to reach out and comfort her or if doing so would only make matters worse.

"Do you not know?" he finally managed to ask.

"What can I possibly know about the minds of nobility? I'm only a commoner, after all – a seamstress, and a farmer's daughter before that. I only moved here because, compared to the quiet mountain pastures where I grew up, it seemed so much more exciting and, yes, romantic. But I did not come here seeking romance. No one was more surprised than I was when it found me."

"First of all," Agdar interrupted, "there is nothing common about you whatsoever. I have seen more dignity and nobility in you than in most of the women of the royal court. And secondly, I have always done my best to treat you with all possible respect due to a lady, noble or otherwise. If I have offended you in some way, you have only to let me know and I will gladly make it up to you in any way that I can."

"Such lovely words. You always have a way with them, don't you?"

The prince's worry only deepened as he listened to the gloom (and bitterness?) that colored her voice. "You say that as if they aren't enough. Then tell me what I can do to make this better. Or at least tell me what I've done to upset you so."

Ellinor drew a shaky breath before she answered. "You praise my nobility and dignity, and yet you are quite plainly embarrassed to be seen with me."

To say that Agdar was rendered speechless by such a statement would be woefully inadequate. He could not even decide what emotions he was, or ought to be, feeling. Part of him wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it, though the rest of him wisely vetoed that option. Another part wanted to rage at the unfairness of such an accusation. At the same time, he wanted to pull Ellinor into his arms and reassure her that nothing could be farther from the truth.

In the midst of this emotional maelstrom, instinct took over. Without even realizing it, he slid his mask into place – that look of distant detachment that usually helped him weather the worst of his father's abuse.

All things considered, his laughter would probably have been less hurtful.

"Have you nothing to say, Your Highness? Or am I to take your silence as mute confession?" There was no longer any doubt of the bitter scorn in Ellinor's voice when she spoke this time.

"When have I ever tried to hide my feelings for you?" he rejoined when at last he finally found his tongue. "Have I come sneaking to your window in the dead of night? Have I ever called upon you in any manner other than openly declaring myself at your front door in the bright light of day? I have always courted you in the most open and honest way that I know. How can you say that I am embarrassed by you?"

"I may not be as sophisticated as the highborn ladies who undoubtedly dote all over you at court, but please do not think I am naive. I have heard many tales of the dalliances of royalty. They feel no need to hide their trysts, because all who see will wisely choose to look away. And once the diversion has lost its appeal, they simply move on without a backward glance.

"I cannot be that sort of woman for you. If that is all that I am to be, then this must end now, today. If you truly value my dignity as highly as you claim, then I beg of you: walk away now and leave some measure of it still intact."

Agdar felt like the room was beginning to spin around him. All this because he had arrived a little late for the first time in the many long months of their relationship? He would never have guessed that Ellinor's pride could be so easily injured. Or was this vanity? Had he misjudged her so badly? He would not have thought it possible but for the evidence of his own ears. Her levelheaded practicality, so uncommon among the courtly women of whom she spoke with such disdain, was one of the things he admired most about her. How could she hold such a minor trespass against him in this way?

The prince slid off the sofa and dropped to one knee on the floor. He took the hand nearest to him in both of his own. Ellinor did not attempt to draw it back, but she turned her head away from him as if disowning the appendage and everything attached to it. So it was that, when Agdar spoke, it was in a voice pitched to carry across the apparently vast distance that had suddenly grown between them.

"My dearest Ellinor, you are not now, nor have you ever been, some idle dalliance of a fickle man. Not unless that man is someone other than I. For my part, I surrendered my heart to you long ago. I do not know what I have done to put these jealous ideas into your head, but I would make things right again if there is any way remaining for me to do so.

"If not, if you truly believe that what I thought we had is now beyond repair, then... then I shall leave. No matter how deeply it will grieve me, I would rather bear that burden myself than cause you further pain. But if there is any hope, any whatsoever, then I will fight anything and anyone that stands in the way of our happiness together. On that you have my solemn word."

Then he waited, not daring to hope and yet unwilling to relinquish it either.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Ellinor finally turned to face him.

"Then why have you never, not once in all the time we've known each other, taken me to the castle?"

Agdar very nearly burst into tears then. His relief at finally understanding was so powerful, it once again momentarily robbed him of the ability to speak. Instead, he lifted her hand to his lips and peppered it with tiny kisses until words at last returned from wherever they had fled.

"Oh, Ellinor," he croaked in a voice strained with emotion. "Embarrassment is indeed the reason, but you were never the one about whom I felt embarrassed. Never in a million years. If you have believed nothing else I have ever said to you, believe that now."

He was rewarded for his words with a look of utter perplexity on his beloved's face. It seemed to him like the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Confusion was simple. It was something he knew how to handle, for it could always be cured with enough time and sufficient explanation.

"If... if not me, then... who?"

Without releasing her hand, he once again sat on the seat next to her, although a little closer this time. He was gratified to see her gaze follow him as he moved. He paused briefly before he spoke. As painful a subject as this was for him, he needed to make sure that his answers would not lead to further misunderstandings.

"My father and I have never exactly... gotten along. I'm afraid he has always found me to be a deep and abiding source of disappointment. Nothing I have ever done or accomplished has ever pleased him, and he has never been shy about expressing his displeasure. It has been a constant in my life with which I've had to learn to cope, after a fashion.

"More importantly, however, it was one that I had hoped to spare you as long as I possibly could – for ever, if I might have found a way to manage it. Over the years, I have hardened myself against that man, but I could not bear the thought of him turning the wrath that he feels towards me upon those that I love. You should never have to suffer such indignities on my account.

"That is why I have done my best to keep you away from him, and him from you. I may have relied on the blindness of others to royal affairs, which you so accurately described. And I have made considerable efforts to make sure that such gossip as there would inevitably be would never reach his ears. Perhaps I've been foolish to think I could keep him deceived forever, yet every day that passed without him learning of you has been another small victory.

"For you see, Ellinor, my shame has never lain upon you. It has always fallen upon the king, my father, and the dishonor that comes from having to admit my kinship to such a man. That's also why I have told you none of this before now. I wanted our relationship to be as free of him as possible. Perhaps that was selfish on my part, but it was the one thing I had that wasn't tainted by him in any way. It made every minute I spent with you infinitely more precious than you can possibly imagine."

He stopped then, because he felt Ellinor's hand tighten around his own. He looked upon her delicate features, then marveled at how absolutely exquisite they became as they pulled into a gentle little smile.

"I have a very good imagination," she said softly.

Agdar drank in her scent as she leaned forward. The taste of her lips on his own made the rest of the world melt away. For the next minute, nothing else existed beyond the confines of their tender embrace.

When she at last pulled away, Ellinor rested her head upon his shoulder. "You are a good man, Agdar," she said, "and I appreciate what you have tried to do for me, for us. But you don't have to protect me, at least not from this. Sooner or later, your father will find out; you can't keep me hidden forever. So instead of waiting in fear of that day, why don't we do things on our own terms? Let's face the worst he can give us and be done with it. I'm not afraid. As long as you're at my side, what could possibly frighten me?"

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," he protested. Images came unbidden to his mind of his sister's cheek, glowing red with the force of his father's hand.

"Of course it's a good idea," she replied teasingly. "It was mine, after all."

"But..."

"It's going to come out eventually. It might as well be today."

"Fine, then I will go right now and tell him everything." At least that way, his father's anger would fall on him and him alone. If he made certain arrangements before that meeting, then he should even be able to see to Ellinor's safety if Ragnarr's rage turned particularly fierce.

She straightened then and looked him proudly in the eye. In that moment, he knew he had already lost.

"No. We go together. Because I love you, Prince Agdar, and I hope to one day join my life to yours, til death do us part. And even if we haven't taken those vows yet, I have no desire to part from you ever again, and I want the world to know it. So as far as I'm concerned, it starts now. Right now. We were going to spend the rest of the afternoon together anyway. The only difference will be where we spend it."

Any other protests he might have been preparing were summarily abandoned. During the better part of a year that he had known Ellinor, Agdar had come to recognize when her stubbornness had dug in its heels and would tolerate no opposition. This was, without a doubt, one of those times. All he could do was suppress a sigh and then nod. "Alright. Together then."

• • •

Their entrance through the castle gates was far more sedate than Agdar's exit had been. The prince returned on foot, walking beside his horse. Ellinor, at his insistence, rode in the saddle. Somehow, to his everlasting astonishment, she managed to look like she was born to be there, and not just upon the mighty stallion. She gave every appearance of being completely at home within the castle walls, bearing herself like a returning queen – not haughty or anything, but perfectly comfortable and confident.

Personally, Agdar felt more like an inexperienced spy sneaking into an enemy encampment. His every nerve was on edge, and he felt like he was about to be exposed at any moment. He was intensely grateful that the lunch he and Ellinor had planned to share that afternoon had been forgotten amid the abrupt change of plans.

Even though they had almost certainly been seen walking or sitting together in the town before this day, Agdar had suddenly become hyper-aware of every single look that had been turned their way as he had escorted her back through the busy streets. It had seemed to him that they had drawn far more attention than usual, though he wasn't at all sure if that was due to his imagination or his horse.

Here though, he was absolutely certain that every single eye on the castle grounds was watching them as they walked slowly over to the stables. There, he helped Ellinor dismount. As the stablehands led the charger off to his stall (albeit with many a backward glance), Agdar offered her his arm. She accepted it with a small smile and a large helping of poise and grace. Feeling for his part as if his shoes had somehow grown two sizes too large for his feet, he carefully began to lead her toward the main entrance to the palace.

He had never before realized just how immense the courtyard was. Crossing it must surely have taken hours. At last, however, they stood before the doors.

Except that this was not precisely the case. Instead, they found themselves standing in front of a short and extremely nervous looking servant. The doors had opened well before they reached them, leaving this man standing directly beneath the lintel and doing a rather poor job of not wringing his hands.

"Good afternoon, Sivert," Agdar said. He was rather shocked at how incredibly normal his voice sounded to his own ears.

"G-Good afternoon, Your Highness," the twitchy man replied. His eyes darted over to Ellinor. "M-Ma'am."

"Oh, where are my manners? Ellinor, this is Sivert, one of the palace messengers. Sivert, this is Ellinor."

"I'm ever so pleased to make your acquaintance," she declared, and paired it with her loveliest smile. Sivert attempted one of his own, but it came off more like a grimace. He returned his attention to the prince.

"H-His Majesty the King requests your presence, im-m-mediately, Sir. In his st-study."

_Well, you wanted to get this over with quickly_, Agdar thought with a sidelong look at the woman on his arm. _Looks like you're getting your wish._ News of their arrival had clearly traveled through the palace like lightning.

"Thank you, Sivert. I think we can find our way there on our own." Their greeter sagged with visible relief at being spared another harrowing encounter, then stepped off to one side to let them pass.

As they made their way across the relative dimness of the entrance hall, Ellinor tugged slightly on Agdar's arm so that his head drew down a little closer to her own. Stretching up slightly, she whispered into his ear, "I should think it would be something of a problem to have a messenger with such an unfortunate speech impediment."

"Yes, it would," he agreed. His choice of words caused her to look at him curiously. He hadn't the heart to tell her that Sivert did not, as a rule, stutter.

How in heaven's name had he let her talk him into this?

All too soon, they arrived outside the king's study. The door was already open. King Ragnarr was standing at the window behind his desk, his back turned toward them. His massive body blocked so much of the incoming sunlight that Agdar found himself almost literally in his father's shadow. He cleared his throat to speak.

"Good afternoon, Your Majesty." As Ellinor stepped forward into the room, she lifted her skirts, lowered her head, and dropped into a deep curtsey. Agdar swore silently to himself. Hadn't he told her to let him do the talking? No, actually. No, he hadn't. He'd been so agitated, he'd forgotten that tiny little detail. His internal profanity increased in both volume and inventiveness.

When Ragnarr turned, it was like watching a mountain revolve, and equally disconcerting. He ignored his son completely, as though he did not even exist. Under other circumstances, this might have constituted an improvement in their relationship. But the intensity with which he stared at Ellinor frightened Agdar more than anything his father had ever done to him.

Ellinor had still lifted neither herself nor her eyes. Agdar could almost taste the tension on his tongue, it was so thick in the air. Ragnarr stepped out from behind the desk. His long legs needed only a couple of strides to cross the room. There, he towered over Ellinor's slight frame. She looked incredibly fragile in Agdar's eyes when measured against the king. The hand that hung near his sword hilt twitched. He made a silent vow to himself that he would not allow this man to harm a single hair upon that beloved head, whatever cost he himself might have to pay in the bargain.

"Rise." The single word rolled out of the king in a voice so deep, the prince could almost feel it in his chest. Ellinor did as she was told, yet still kept her head bent. Agdar hated it, watching the woman he loved, with all her quiet pride and modest dignity, abase herself like this just to satisfy his father. This was a man who deserved no such respect, and a lady who deserved so much more.

The king's hand rose to hover just below Ellinor's chin. Agdar's fingers convulsively gripped the pummel of his sword. No breath escaped his lips as he watched, tense, ready to spring.

The hand slowly lowered to its owner's side. "Look at me," Ragnarr said.

At last, that noble chin lifted. Their eyes met.

Something about the king's expression made it seem as if he had suddenly taken a step backward, though his feet did not move. Agdar was unable to see much of Ellinor's face from where he stood. If he had, however, his pride in her would have sent his spirit soaring well beyond the reach of his father or any other mortal man.

There was a fire in her eyes that brooked no insult. Her jaw was set and her gaze was steady. A fierce determination rode there such as none had dared to show the king in years.

Still, whatever emotion had briefly crossed Ragnarr's face an eye blink earlier disappeared just as quickly. Its place was now taken by an inscrutable mask. If Agdar had been a slightly vainer man and had spent more time looking in the mirror, he might just have recognized it. As it was, he could barely think for the sound of the blood pounding in his ears. For him, the passage of time was counted off by that dull internal thunder.

His father's voice still retained a measure of its usual angry contempt when he finally spoke, his eyes flashing briefly in Agdar's direction. "My son has once again utterly failed to honor his proper responsibilities as a prince of the realm," declared the king. "And so as usual, it falls upon me to rectify his mistakes, and to do what he apparently cannot."

Ragnarr's gaze slowly slid back to recapture the woman who stood before him. She had not moved a muscle but stood straight and true, confident and bold. If she felt any fear, she did not let it show.

Agdar's eyes darted back and forth between the two implacable figures. In the past, he had placed himself between the king and those he loved, willing to take the brunt of that powerful anger entirely upon himself in order to protect others. Now he watched Ellinor doing the same for him, as his sister had done years before. And he remembered the price Primrose had paid the last time she'd dared to show such audacity. His teeth ground together at the thought of a similar indignity being delivered unto the woman that he loved.

He felt a powerful urge to simply grab her and run, to leave Arendelle and his father behind, never to return. Perhaps they could make their way to Corona. Prim would understand. True, it would mean leaving behind his pride and reputation as well, but it would be a small price to pay to guarantee that he and Ellinor might live together in peace and safety.

His father bent at the waist in that slow, ponderous way that a felled tree first begins its descent to the earth. His face dropped down until it was at a level with Ellinor's. She did not flinch. In fact, she barely blinked.

Even when the King of Arendelle lifted her hand and lightly pressed her knuckles to his lips.

"We have not been properly introduced. I am King Ragnarr," he said in his rumbling voice. "And you are...?"

"Ellinor," she replied, dipping once again in another small curtsey. "It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty."

"Likewise." Ragnarr straightened. "This is your first visit to the castle?"

She nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Then there is much for you to see. Come." He rested a hand upon her shoulder and began to guide her out of the study, making no attempt to account for Agdar's continued presence in the doorway. The prince, dazed though he was, hurriedly moved out of the way. Still, this did not spare him from being bumped roughly into the wall by his father's burly shoulder.

He stood for a moment watching the two backs – one slender as a reed, the other preposterously broad – begin to move away down the passage. His thoughts, which had come crashing to an abrupt and messy halt, struggled to disentangle themselves from one another.

It was only when he saw Ellinor looking back at him over her shoulder, her face lit with an impossible smile, that he gave up thinking and simply allowed his feet to carry him forward in their wake.

• • •

"Wait a minute," Elsa interrupted. "I'm confused. You mean your father..."

"Yes," Agdar nodded, when it seemed plain that his daughter was struggling (with little success) to figure out how to finish her sentence.

"...and Mother...?"

"Uh-huh."

"But... but..." She ground to a halt. Her brows drew close together as she tried to puzzle out this riddle. At last, she shook her head. "Nope. Still confused."

Agdar chuckled again. "So was I, believe me. It took some time before I finally arrived at the only conclusion that ever seemed to make any sort of sense."

"And that would be...?

The king pursed his lips for a moment before replying. "There's an old wives' tale which says that men often find themselves attracted to women who remind them of their mother. Now I have no idea whether or not that's actually true. Since I never knew my mother, I can't really offer any firsthand experience either.

"The closest thing that I actually had was Prim. In her own way, she was almost as much of a mother to me as she was a sister. She looked after me, after all, and protected me as best she could from Father when I was young. But I have it on good authority from those who knew them both that there was much of my mother in Primrose. Certainly my father seemed to think so, as I've told you before.

"I didn't realize it right away, perhaps because Prim had already left for Corona by the time I met your mother, but the two of them have a lot in common as well. Both possess an understated grace. Both have deeply passionate and caring souls. I suppose they even look a little alike, after a fashion.

"With so many similarities between the three of them, I suppose I did end up falling in love with a woman very much like my mother after all. I have no idea how it happened, but I like to think she'd have been pleased by it all the same." A melancholy smile touched his lips then. His eyes slipped off Elsa's face and focused on some unreal point over her shoulder, as they so often did when his thoughts turned to the parent he had never known.

She waited patiently for him to return from his mental wanderings. Not only was she loath to interrupt them, but she was also too mesmerized by the entire tale to want to disturb the almost hallowed atmosphere that now seemed to fill her room.

At last, Agdar drew himself back to the present with a shrug. "Anyway, I can only assume that my father saw all of that far more quickly than I did. At least, I think he immediately saw something in your mother that strongly reminded him of his beloved wife.

"That was all it took, really. After that, there was no more hiding. We couldn't have if we'd wanted to. Your mother was welcomed into the castle whenever she wished to visit. More than welcomed, she was encouraged! And whenever she was around, Father was even... well, not exactly nice to me, but at least civil. Mostly. It was one of the strangest things I've ever experienced.

"In fact, I think it might have been the only thing I ever did that the old man actually approved of. Not that he ever actually came out and admitted it, of course."

Agdar watched his daughter as she valiantly attempted to process all this information. He could almost see on her face as she sifted through it, rearranged it, turned it around and tried to make sense of it all. He expected she would have more questions, and so he gave her the time to arrive at them.

When that time had passed, and considerable more besides, without a single word from the princess, he finally asked his own quiet question. "Elsa, sweetheart. What are you thinking?"

Elsa shook her head. "I'm not really sure," she replied. "There's just so much – so much about our family that I never knew. And this is just your half of it!"

Agdar cocked an eyebrow. "If you ever ask your mother, I'm certain she will inform you that her family is completely dull and ordinary and that there is nothing in the slightest bit interesting to tell." Then he grinned. "However, I have had the opportunity, once or twice, to bring up the subject with Gerda. If you're interested, I could tell you a few things. Or I could at least tell you just the right things to ask your mother to really get her talking."

Elsa smiled back. "Maybe, but not today. I have too much to think about already." She fell silent again before she finally continued, "I wish I'd had a chance to get to know Aunt Primrose better, before..."

The king's smile faded a little. "So do I. You know, she doesn't travel as much as she used to, but I'm sure I could convince her to come for a visit. It's been too long since we've seen each other, after all, and..."

But Elsa was shaking her head. "No, please. I couldn't possibly... What would I do, talk to her through the door? What would she think of me? No, better that she not know me at all that to know me as her... as her broken little niece."

"Elsa! Have you paid any attention to all the stories I've told you? Do you really think my sister, the one who I just finished telling you has so much in common with your own mother, would ever think that of you? She would never!"

"Does she know about... Did you ever tell her about my... my curse?"

Agdar drew in a deep breath, then let it out through his nose. "No," he said. "No, we didn't. But she obviously knows that we closed the castle. We do still exchange letters, after all, and it would have been nearly impossible to hide the fact that we've been deeply worried about you, and Anna too. I'm sure she would only want to help, Elsa."

"Are they... are they still looking for their daughter?"

"Rapunzel?" The king sighed. "I don't know that they're really still looking after all these years, but they've never stopped hoping. They still light the lanterns every year on her birthday, at least."

"Then that settles it," Elsa declared with finality. "I don't want them worrying about me on top of all that."

"Now you're starting to sound like Anna."

He saw the princess's breath catch, watched her sit up just the tiniest bit straighter. Then she collected herself and, with her chin thrust out and a gleam in her eyes, she replied, "Thank you. What a lovely compliment."

And in that moment, Agdar thought he finally knew what his father must have seen all those years ago, for now he saw it too. The defiant tilt of the head. That passionate spark that caught the light and turned it into razor blades. He saw his daughter. He saw his wife. He saw his sister. And he saw...

_Hello, Mother._ It was like a silent prayer in his heart.


	15. In Search of Friendly Words

"Good morning, Josef! Hello, Trofaste."

"Princess Anna." Josef did not turn at the sound of the chipper young voice, but merely continued to stroke the withers of the queen's mount with the brush he held in his hand. The animal seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the attention, for it gave even less of a reaction to the princess's greeting than its groomer had.

"How are the horses this morning?" Even though the bright tones that spoke those words came from behind him, he still had a pretty good image in his mind of the youngest member of the royal family, standing on the bottom slat of the stall gate as she had on that day they were first introduced, peering in at him as he worked.

"They're all just fine, Your Highness."

And there was the surprised pause, exactly as he had been expecting. He set his resolve. The brush moved down and continued its work along Trofaste's flank.

"Now haven't we already talked about you not needing to call me that?" He could hear the note of rebuke, which he'd also anticipated, but the princess had delivered the reproach through a smile. Her usual cheerfulness was as present as ever.

"Yes," he confirmed, still without looking at her, "we did."

"Oh. I thought you might have forgotten. I haven't run into you the last few times I've come down to the stables, after all. Come to think of it, I'm not sure I've seen you since Midsummer's Eve."

This seemed to be something of a revelation to Anna, but not to Josef. After all, he had been doing his level best to be away from the stables during those times when the princess most commonly visited. That, along with a decent helping of luck, had allowed him to avoid this moment for a considerable length of time.

Unfortunately, now that it was here, he still had no idea how to properly deal with it.

It shouldn't be this difficult, of course – a fact he had been repeatedly reminding himself of for the entire time that he'd been playing this strange game of hide and seek. Nevertheless, he still found himself unsure what to say or do.

Through his nervous agitation, part of Josef's mind offered the seemingly sensible advice to just be himself. However, just being himself had led to the king's visit in the first place. It almost seemed to him as if King Agdar was standing right there beside him even now, arms crossed, face set in a scowl, judging every move he made. Even when physically absent, that man could still be intimidating.

The most normal and innocent of conversations suddenly becomes a treacherous obstacle course when you find yourself second guessing every word before it even leaves your lips.

"I've already seen to Adelen this morning. I'm sure he'll be quite eager for a little exercise in the courtyard." Perhaps if she became sufficiently distracted by her horse, he would be able to quietly slip away and delay this conversation a little longer still.

"Oh. Well, thank you, but I didn't actually come looking to take Adelen for a ride this morning."

No, of course she hadn't. What should he say to her? Maybe he ought to just come right to the point of the matter and simply tell her that, no matter what feelings she might believe she held for him, the two of them would never be more than just friends. Then again, he'd had the opportunity himself to experience the sick sensation that comes from finding out that one's affections will not be returned. He really did not feel comfortable being the person to introduce one of Arendelle's princesses to that horrible feeling.

His hand continued to move, even though he had by now thoroughly brushed every inch of Trofaste's coat.

"I was actually wondering if you might have any more funny stories about the people you met when you were working at the inn. Well, I suppose they don't actually have to be funny, really. They could be exciting or interesting or strange or romantic or exciting or… Wait, did I say that already? Anyway, the point is that I'm not actually that particular. I love all of your stories. Any kind will do."

"I… can't think of one." He actually wasn't trying to put her off with that answer. Alright, maybe he was, but it was also the truth. At that moment, not a single tale of his time working as an apprentice ostler was willing to step forth and be counted. Too much of his brain power was still being taken up trying to figure out the proper way to deal with this uncomfortable situation.

The horse snorted and tossed its head. Apparently, the prolonged brushing was beginning to be seen as too much of a good thing.

"Oh." The disappointment in Anna's voice was perfectly clear, and it was enough to make Josef feel like an inconsiderate oaf. This was ridiculous. Certainly, he ought to be capable of carrying on a simple, friendly conversation with a ten-year-old girl, even if she was a princess. He began to turn around, finally having made up his mind to do just that.

He was just in time to see Anna step down off the gate and turn away herself. "I guess I'll leave you to your work then." She began to walk off without another word of goodbye.

Josef opened his mouth to call after her, but he did not. However small his own behavior might have made him feel, he simply could not deny the honest fact that, at that moment, he was relieved to see her go. It gave him just a little more time to come up with the right words to try and explain the situation to the young girl, hopefully in a way that wouldn't hurt too very much.

And when he did, he'd also be sure to have a really good story to tell her. Maybe that would take some of the sting out of the blow.

• • •

Gerda could not make up her mind whether the reduced kitchen staff was a blessing or a curse. On Midsummer's Eve, of course, she was always allowed to bring in extra help, for there was simply no way she could manage preparations for the entire banquet with the few assistants she'd been allowed to retain permanently. By the time the feast actually came around, however, she was generally worn to a frazzle from trying to supervise so many people at once the entire day long. It was yet another reason why she always looked forward to her quiet drink with Kai on those evenings.

Most other days, she could easily get by without much difficulty. There were only a handful on staff who, like Gerda herself, actually kept residence in the palace. The rest went home to their families at the end of the day, where they usually supped each evening and broke their fasts the next morning before returning to the castle.

The midday meal usually placed the heaviest demand on her time, but that was typically a very loose affair. People would straggle in to grab a bite as their duties allowed, often taking their dish off to eat somewhere out of the way and returning the empty plate when they were finished. This usually allowed her to keep up with little trouble.

But then, there were the surprises.

Oh, they'd told her that the ambassador would be arriving soon, of course, and that he would be staying for several days of talks with the king. In the old days, his rank would have been sufficient to earn him accommodation in one of the palace's many guest rooms. Since the closing of the gates, however, such overnight visitors were a thing of the past. Instead, the best room in the town's finest inn had been secured for his use, where most of his meals would also be provided. All of this would, of course, be paid for from the royal coffers.

It would be the height of impropriety, however, to not host at least one formal dinner in the diplomat's honor at the palace itself. Naturally, it was Gerda's responsibility to oversee those preparations. The catch, though, was that nobody had been able to tell her quite when the envoy was scheduled to arrive. This was always something of a problem, what with the uncertainties of ocean travel, but all the best estimates Kai had given her had said he would not arrive before tomorrow at the earliest.

So of course, his ship had pulled into port that morning, and the king wanted to welcome him with a dinner that very night.

Fortunately, most of the necessary provisions had already been secured, but there were a few perishable items that Gerda insisted be obtained fresh on the day of such a meal. She'd immediately sent her assistants out to acquire the necessary items, because she frankly didn't trust the usual errand runners to know the difference between a ripe piece of fruit and a half rotten one. Until they got back, she was left to begin the baking and cooking all on her own. And since this was a special meal for an honored guest, that also meant that every dish had to be more elaborate than usual too.

All of this explained why, as she bustled from one end of the kitchen to the other, she was having an extremely difficult time trying to keep up her end of a chat with Arendelle's younger princess.

"I said, do you think he's angry at me?" Anna was having to repeat herself again, while Gerda struggled to find room for the thread of conversation amidst all the other things she was trying to keep straight in her head.

"I'm sure I don't know, dear," she replied distractedly. "Don't make it down to the stables very often myself. Never been much for horses, to tell you the truth. Did ride a reindeer once, though. Well, twice depending on how you count the trip back."

Ordinarily, Anna would have latched on to that particular juicy tidbit and pursued it doggedly until the old woman divulged the entire story. Josef's gruff behavior had upset her more than she cared to admit, however, and so the careless digression went largely unnoticed.

"It was almost like all the time we'd spent talking together had never happened. Well no, actually, it was worse than that. Even the first time we met, he was friendlier than he was this morning. It was like he just didn't want to talk with me at all."

"Mm-hmm," Gerda replied, as she opened the door on one of the ovens to check the dish baking inside. After due consideration, she added a bit more fuel to the fire, then closed the oven and returned her attention to the dough she'd been busy kneading.

"The problem is, I can't think of anything that I might have done to upset him," Anna continued. "The last time we really talked was at the Midsummer bonfire, and he was perfectly friendly then. You don't think he could be offended that I haven't tried harder to see him since then, do you?"

"What, dear? Oh, who knows? Men can be terribly stupid about such things. Well, not that women can't be too, but men seem to have a particular knack for it. Excuse me a moment." And with that, she darted off to the other end of the room to transfer a pot of bubbling milk off the stove to the nearby counter. She added butter and several eggs to the pot, then proceeded to vigorously whisk the contents.

By the time the mixture was thoroughly uniform and back on the stove again, the succulent smell of roast lamb was drifting across the room, accompanied by a pleasant crackling noise. Gerda hurried over to the spit and turned it, then proceeded to thoroughly baste the meat with her own special blend of oils and spices.

As she straightened from that task, she glanced at the clock on the wall. A look of surprise bordering on mild alarm came to her face, and she hurried back to the oven she'd stoked earlier. Grabbing a dish cloth from the counter, she opened the metal belly and pulled out a shallow pan filled with sweet potatoes, which she then prodded with a fork to test their readiness.

"Do you know where my mother might be?"

The princess's raised voice just managed to pierce the busy woman's attention. "I believe she said earlier that she would be in the parlor," Gerda replied as she exchanged the fork for a knife and began to slice the baked vegetables.

"Of course, you probably shouldn't disturb her right now," she added a second or two later. She finally glanced up from her work only to find herself addressing an empty chair. Turning to the door, she caught the tiniest flash of green before it vanished from view.

"Oh dear." Setting down her knife, she started to move toward the door, hoping to catch the princess before she had gone too very far. Just then, the shrill whistle of a boiling kettle cut across the room and immediately drew her attention.

She came to a standstill, not quite sure which way to turn. Finally, she hurried to the exit and peered out into the passage. Her moment of indecision, however, had been more than enough for the ever energetic redhead to have disappeared from sight.

• • •

Kai sat unobtrusively in a chair by the door and listened carefully to all that was being said, without appearing to pay any undue attention. It was a skill he had perfected many years ago, and which he'd often found to be extremely useful.

King Agdar had specifically requested that he be present for this meeting, which was not without precedent. Kai was not a member of the royal advisory council, but his role as palace steward had slowly grown over time. The result was that, for many years now, he had also served as something of a personal assistant to the king, who valued his organizational acumen, his keen observational skills, and his sharp memory. For all these reasons, he sometimes found himself sitting in on certain conversations, even with high ranking foreign diplomats. Afterward, the king would often turn to him to confirm his own recollections of events or to make certain that nothing had been overlooked.

Today did not represent the start of formal negotiations, however. That work would begin tomorrow. The envoy's ship had only just docked in Arendelle harbor a few hours earlier, and this was little more than a social call during which he would pay his respects to the king and queen. Because of its informal nature, the meeting was simply being held in the parlor off the entrance hall. The queen, as usual, had opened the shutters and drapes so that the room practically swam in the bright sunshine.

"Well, it seems you picked a perfect time to travel then," she was saying at that moment. "It sounds like the weather couldn't have been much better for you."

"Indeed, Your Majesty. Much better than my last trip to the Southern Isles, I can assure you. I'm not usually one to be bothered by a little chop, and yet I'm not ashamed to admit that the squalls we encountered on that voyage were a little too much for my liking. In fact, when we finally reached port and the men on the docks began hauling on the mooring lines, I thought for a second that I just might 'heave ho' myself!"

Kai permitted himself a smile while the room's other occupants shared a laugh. He could well sympathize with the ambassador. His own stomach had never exactly managed to come to an amiable truce with the high seas either... or with the low seas, for that matter.

The king was just beginning to move the conversation on to another topic when there came a knock on the parlor door. All eyes turned to the entrance and, due to his proximity, to Kai as well. Knowing his duties, he quickly stood and, with a slight bow of apology, opened the door just wide enough to slip out into the corridor so that he could quietly deal with the interruption.

He was rather surprised to find how far down he had to look in order to do so.

"Princess Anna," he spoke in a low voice. "What can I do for you?"

"I was just looking for my mother. Is she in there?"

"Yes, she is, but she's with the king and the Irish ambassador at the moment. If it's an emergency, I can certainly let her know, but..."

Anna shook her head. "No, it's nothing like that. I just... That is, I was hoping... Oh, it doesn't matter."

Kai watched the princess's hopeful expression falter. "Are you quite sure, Your Highness? Is there something wrong? Anything I could perhaps help you with?"

"No, that's quite alright, Kai. But thank you." As if to reassure him, she managed to call a smile back onto her face, even if it was not one of her more convincing attempts.

The steward frowned. Clearly, something was bothering the poor girl, whether she wanted to admit it or not. He hated to leave her so clearly downhearted. At the same time, the king had expressly requested his presence in the parlor today and would be expecting his prompt return. What to do?

"I'll tell you what, then. I'll be sure to let your mother know you stopped by the minute the ambassador departs. In the meantime, why don't you go down to the kitchens and have a little talk with Gerda? I can even let Her Majesty know to look for you there when she's done."

For reasons he could not understand, his words actually seemed to make the princess's shoulders slump a little more.

"Thank you, Kai. Maybe I'll do that. You don't need to bother my mother, though. Really, it's nothing. I'll… I should let you get back in there. Thanks for taking the time to let me know, though."

Before he could say another word, Anna had spun away and was walking briskly down the hall. As she turned the corner, Kai reached around to open the door and reenter the parlor.

He glanced back after the princess, however, when he heard her small footfalls break into a run.

• • •

The sound at her door caused Elsa to look up with a start. At first, she wasn't sure what to make of it. The noise hadn't been a knock so much as a single dull thud, as if something fairly heavy had accidentally banged into the door. Of course, aside from her room, there wasn't all that much down this particular stretch of hallway. Certainly, there was little reason why anyone would be carrying or pushing anything of significant size along the corridor.

She listened closely to hear if the noise might come again. When several seconds passed with no repetition, she finally gave up and turned her attention back to the book of verse that lay open on her desk. She slid her finger down the page, trying to find the line where she'd left off.

"Are you there, Elsa?"

Her finger froze in place and her eyes rose to the door once again.

"That's actually a pretty silly question, isn't it? I mean, you're always there. Except for the few times when you weren't, of course. I suppose what I really meant was, 'Are you listening?' But that's almost as silly, because you wouldn't answer whether you were listening or not. Then again, if you weren't there, you wouldn't answer either, would you?

"Well, asking questions is obviously getting us nowhere, so how about this: if you're there and you're listening, just don't say anything at all, and that way I'll know, okay?"

The logic behind Anna's words was so horribly tortured that Elsa came very close to pointing out to her sister exactly how little sense she was making. There was something in Anna's voice, however, that made it perfectly clear she knew exactly how absurd her words had become, but that she simply didn't care. It seemed to hold a note of plaintive desperation that her next words confirmed.

"There are just some days, Elsa. Some days, I feel so terribly alone. Everybody else in the castle has duties and responsibilities that keep them busy, but most times I can still find someone who'll talk with me. Yet every so often, I just seem to be in the way no matter where I go. Even then, I can usually deal with it. Except, some days…

"Some days, I just really need to talk to somebody. Anybody, really.

"Remember how we used to talk? I miss that so much. I mean, Mother and Father and Gerda, I love them all, and they all really do try. Even when they aren't distracted, though, it always feels like they're somehow judging me. I know they don't mean to, that they're just worried and trying to figure out whether or not I'm alright. But I still can't help it. I never feel like I can ever really quite be myself, you know?

"I never had to worry about that with you. I could just say whatever I wanted, and you understood. I don't know, maybe it's a sister thing? Except that I don't think it is, because…

"Because it was the same way with Marie, too." Anna broke off, and the uncomfortable silence that followed filled Elsa's ears.

She remained unmoving in the chair behind her desk.

Anna didn't understand, couldn't understand. But just like their parents, Elsa wanted nothing more than to protect her little sister too. That's what made moments like this torture for her. She could hear that Anna was hurting, and yet she knew perfectly well that nobody else had ever caused her sister greater injury than she herself had – and could again, all too easily.

Her warring emotions led to her immobility. Half of her wanted to climb into bed and pull the covers over her head, like she had done when she'd been younger, to try to block out all the pain in the world, even Anna's. The other half wanted to run to the door and, if not fling it open, then at least let her sister know she was there and that she'd heard every word. She was always there, and she always heard.

"I guess I really don't have that much to say after all, Elsa, especially since I still I don't know whether or not you're even listening. But if you are, thank you. You know, for listening. And if you aren't listening… Well then, I guess thank you for not interrupting me, so that I can at least let myself believe that you are. I just wish… I…"

There was the sound of a single, barely choked sob from outside the door.

"I wish you would do more than just listen all the time."

Elsa was on her feet and running to the door. However, the sound of rapid footsteps did not stop when she reached it. She pressed her ear to the white wood and listened. She listened, like she always did.

She listened as her sister fled, once again leaving her behind – leaving her alone.

• • •

Ellinor opened the door a crack and peeked inside. Then, she quietly slipped into the room and tiptoed over to one of the long, low seats by the wall. It so happened to be the only seat in the portrait gallery that was, at the moment, occupied.

The queen knelt down on the floor and gazed at her daughter. Anna was curled up on her side with the base of her spine pressed tightly against the sofa's upholstered back. One of her braids had slid down and was lost beneath her chin, which was tucked down nearly to her chest. Her knees were drawn up in a fetal position, and her arms were wrapped tightly around them as if she was freezing cold. Her entire body seemed to be coiled around some barely visible center that nestled against her stomach. Ellinor tried to make out what, if anything, might be hidden there, but the knot of her daughter's limbs made it impossible to tell.

Reaching out her hand, she softly brushed the hair off Anna's forehead, tucking the longest strands back behind the girl's ear. Beneath her touch, the sleeping princess stirred.

"Anna," she said in a gentle voice. "Anna, it's time to wake up."

The princess's eyelids rose just enough that Ellinor caught a glimpse of white through the lashes. Then they closed again.

"Anna." This time, the queen coupled the word with a small shake of her daughter's shoulder.

"I'm awake," came the muffled response. "Just don't wanna be."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but you have to come down to dinner soon. We have a special guest tonight, and Gerda's prepared a wonderful meal for the occasion."

"I know," Anna replied gloomily. Nevertheless, she levered herself up into a sitting position and rubbed blearily at her eyes. When she dropped her hand, she still did not look at her mother.

"Is everything alright, dear?" Ellinor asked with concern. Even from this angle, she thought she could discern a hint of puffiness around the girl's eyes. Had Anna been crying?

"I'm fine, Mother. I already told Kai that it was nothing." At last, she looked up and gave her mother a smile that almost managed to look unforced.

The queen sat down beside her daughter. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I already did." Anna jerked her head upward to indicate the portrait that hung on the wall above them. Then she sighed. "What I really want is someone who'll talk to me instead."

Ellinor slipped her arm behind the young girl's back and drew her close to her side. "I think I can manage that. In fact, I'm sure that your father ought to be able to keep the ambassador entertained at dinner tonight all by himself. So you can sit by me, and we can talk about whatever you like. Or I can do the talking, if you don't feel up to it."

"Oh, I don't mind talking," Anna said, and her smile became more honest, if still a little sad.

"Good. I've always found it to be far more enjoyable to talk with someone than to just talk to them."

The princess's downturned face whipped around to look up at her mother. She half expected to see a knowing smile or wink there, but neither was present. All she got back was a look of concern, along with a touch of surprise at her sudden movement.

It was a different sort of movement that drew Anna's eyes downward, to where the queen's hand rested in her lap. Ellinor's gaze drifted there as well, and then she remembered.

"Oh yes, I nearly forgot. This arrived for you this afternoon." There was no need to say who the letter was from, of course. Anna lifted the paper from her mother's hand, broke the seal, and scanned the first page in a somewhat desultory manner.

Suddenly she sat up straighter and her eyes grew wide. She brought the letter up closer to her face, her entire head actually moving back and forth as she reread every single line with far greater care this time. As she turned to the second sheet, her previously halfhearted smile slowly blossomed into a full-fledged grin.

Before Ellinor knew what was happening, she found her lap filled with one very emotional princess whose arms were wrapped around her chest and squeezing with all their might.

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed. "Good news, I take it?"

"The best!" Anna replied, and the unrestrained joy in her voice brought a warm glow to the queen's heart. At last, she pulled away, slid down onto the floor, and stood there, clutching the letter to her chest and nearly vibrating with excitement.

"Well, what is it?"

"It's Marie!"

"Yes, I rather figured…"

"She and her family. They're coming! They're coming!"

"They're coming? Here?"

Anna nodded, and her entire body bounced right along with her head. "Marie is coming to visit!"


	16. Changes in Perspective

Anna bolted out of her classroom at top speed. For the last hour at least, she'd been fidgeting impatiently at her desk, barely taking in a third of what her tutor had been saying. Slowly and steadily, all that restless energy had apparently pooled in her legs so that the instant Prof. Englestad had finally dismissed her, she'd taken off like a shot.

She'd been having trouble settling to anything for the last several days. After all, how could she be expected to focus on her lessons, or anything else for that matter, when she was counting down the days and hours until she once again got to see the closest friend she had known for the last five years?

"Anna?"

The princess danced to a stop while gracefully spinning around to locate the source of the voice. At least that's what she tried to do. In point of fact, she actually caromed off the nearest wall, staggered backwards across the hallway, arms pinwheeling wildly, and began her inevitable descent to the carpeted floor.

"Careful now! Don't worry, I've got you." Anna felt herself caught beneath the arms, her downward motion arrested halfway through the fall. A moment later, she was tipped back up onto her feet. At last, she turned around to look her rescuer in the eye.

"Thanks, Mother."

"It's my job to catch you, dear. But where were you headed in such a hurry?"

Anna shrugged. "Nowhere. I just couldn't sit still any longer. I feel like running everywhere, you know? I'm just so excited!"

"Yes, your father and I have noticed, as have at least half of the castle staff. I'll say this much, you've certainly been keeping everybody on their toes lately. Those who aren't are likely to end up on the floor instead."

Anna just grinned, not even bothering to look guilty. Despite herself, Ellinor had to smile back.

"Do you have any plans for the afternoon?"

After thinking for a moment, the princess shook her head. "No, not really. I figured I'd just make it up as I went along. That usually seems to work for me most of the time."

The queen's smile grew a little wider. "I see. Well then, would you mind a little company? I thought maybe we could have lunch together, and then I was rather in the mood for a bit of a stroll around the grounds. I'd be delighted if you'd join me for both."

"Um, I don't suppose there's any way we could eat while walking?" Anna shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Only I've been sitting still – well, mostly still – all morning, and I'm not sure my legs will be willing to wait much longer."

Ellinor's laughter fell in a sparkling cascade like a brief spring shower. "Why don't we go ask Gerda? I'm sure she'll be able to come up with something."

Their walk to the kitchen was an odd sort of compromise. Anna spent the entire time trying not to race ahead while her mother tried just as hard to quicken her typically dignified pace. It proved to be such a completely comical combination that they were both laughing freely by the time they reached their destination.

"Your Majesty. Princess Anna," Gerda greeted them heartily. "Are you both so hungry today that you just couldn't wait for your normal meal in the dining room? Or are you merely hungry for the best conversation to be found this side of the North Mountain? Either way, you've come to the right place."

"Well, we did come looking for lunch," Ellinor began.

"Ah, perfect! I was hoping that was the case. You see, I tried my hand at a new lobster bisque recipe today, and I think it turned out quite good if I do say so myself. The thyme, the paprika, the garlic – they all came together just right. We also have fresh loaves of a hazelnut sourdough that ought to complement it nicely. So let me just fill up a bowl for each of you, and then you can tell me what you think."

"Actually," the queen interrupted, "we were rather hoping for something a little... easier to carry?"

"Carry?"

"Yes. Perhaps some sandwiches."

"Sandwiches."

"And maybe a couple of apples." Anna chimed in helpfully.

Gerda looked back and forth between her two guests, and the eagerness on her face slowly soured. "Sandwiches. Of course." She turned and started clattering about the kitchen. Grabbing a knife from the counter, she stabbed it into the nearest loaf, then began to saw at the bread with an unnecessary ferocity.

It wasn't entirely clear whether Gerda, in her apparent agitation, was simply talking louder than she realized or if she actually meant for them to hear the rest of her words. Personally, Ellinor suspected the latter. Her monologue went something like this:

"Sandwiches indeed! Try to make something new. Try to make something interesting. Do my part to bring a little excitement into this dull place. Here, try a bit of this bisque I made. After all, I only spent the better part of the morning shelling the lobster, dicing the meat, chopping the fresh herbs, mincing the onions and the shallots. But no, just sandwiches for us, please and thank you. Sorry, no time even to chat. Must be on our way. Honestly don't know why I bother sometimes. Might as well cook for one of the local taverns. Phfft."

Anna looked up at her mother with an expression of some alarm. She hadn't meant to bruise Gerda's feelings, after all. The queen, however, seemed far less concerned. In fact, her face wore a patient smirk, the kind that said she had heard other similar rants many times before and yet had still lived to tell the tale.

As both the muttering and the sandwich making continued (Gerda excelled at both, and was never one to rush either), Ellinor left Anna's side and walked to one of the cupboards. Opening it, she reached in and pulled out a short, stocky mug, which then she carried over to the stove. Lifting the lid off the large pot that was simmering there, she inhaled appreciatively. Then she ladled a generous helping of the creamy soup into the mug and replaced the cover.

Sliding out a nearby drawer, she helped herself to a spoon, whose broad bowl immediately disappeared into the mug. As she crossed back to the open door and her waiting daughter, she lifted the cup closer to her mouth. Carefully extracting the spoon, she blew across it once, then slipped it between her lips.

None of this had been lost on Gerda, of course. At first, she'd made a show of not paying attention, only peeking out of the corner of her eye while continuing to grumble, albeit with slowly decreasing fervor. By this point, however, she'd dropped all pretense and had turned to wait expectantly for her friend's reaction.

The queen paused in quiet consideration. Then she dipped the spoon back into the bowl and turned, extending both toward Anna. Looking just the tiniest bit apprehensive, the princess leaned forward and opened her mouth to accept the offered taste. As her lips closed around it and the thick liquid spilled onto her tongue, her eyes grew wide.

"I can carry the cup if you can carry the sandwiches," Ellinor offered.

Anna looked down at the broad mug in her mother's hands, then over at the pot still warming on the stove. "Well, I suppose we could sit down for a _quick_ lunch."

• • •

An hour of pleasant conversation later, with both of their stomachs now happily digesting half a sandwich and a generous helping of lobster bisque each, mother and daughter walked out into the bright afternoon sun. Anna was not quite skipping, but there was a noticeable lightness in her step. The air was comfortably warm, though something about the paleness of the sky made it clear that cooler autumn days would soon be settling upon the kingdom.

"Well, where should we go first?" Ellinor asked.

It took a moment before the extremely contented princess realized that she'd been asked a question. Her attention had been drawn upward by the sound of honking geese, and she'd been watching them pass overhead, heading south in a lopsided V formation. She wondered if they were already starting their seasonal migration and, if so, might Marie see this same flock on her journey northward.

"Oh, wherever you want is fine by me. It's not like I haven't seen every inch of the castle a thousand times already."

So the queen turned left and, steering her still distracted daughter by way of a gentle hand upon her shoulder, headed across the courtyard to the shade beneath the castle walls. It wasn't until her mother led the way through one of the split doors that Anna realized they weren't just passing by the stables, but were actually going inside.

Even then, the significance of the visit didn't fully hit her until she heard the words, "Hello, Josef."

"Your Majesty."

Anna was still only just inside the doorway, though her mother had gone a few steps farther in. Josef was hidden from the princess's view and she from his, for which she was deeply grateful. All the excitement at Marie's news had almost driven her last conversation with the stablehand out of her mind.

Almost.

"I just thought I'd look in on Trofaste while I was out this afternoon," the queen continued amiably. "I really don't make it down here nearly as often as I should, but it's good to know that all the horses are in such capable hands."

"Well, that is our job, Your Majesty."

"I thought Anna might like to look in on Adelen, too. I haven't seen her taking him out for a ride in a while. Of course, she has been a little distracted lately. Haven't you, dear?"

It was at that point that Ellinor realized that someone was missing both from the conversation and from her side. "Anna?" She turned around and spied her daughter, who was looking oddly subdued in comparison to her earlier exuberance. With some reluctance, the princess came forward and stood beside her mother.

Josef greeted her with a polite nod. "Your Highness."

"Jo- Mr. Mikkelsen." The muscle along the stablehand's jaw tightened reflexively for a brief moment at Anna's formal response.

The queen looked back and forth between the other two faces as a stiff silence descended between them. "Is everything alright here?"

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"Anna?"

The princess nodded, but did not say a word.

Ellinor sighed with exasperation. "You do realize that I've sat through treaty negotiations that were less frosty than this, don't you? Now, what's going on here? I thought you two were friends."

She waited for an answer, but none appeared to be forthcoming. In fact, no one would even look in her direction. Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine then, let me venture a guess. By any chance, did this all start after my husband had his little talk with you, Josef?"

Instantly, both faces turned to her with startled expressions. The look on the man's face neatly answered her question, but it was Anna who spoke.

"Father had a talk with Josef?" Ellinor noted the return to a first-name basis and considered that to at least be a promising sign. "Why?"

Feeling suddenly weary at the prospect of the talk looming before her, the queen looked around for some place she could sit. A moment later, Josef was wiping off a small work stool, which he then set on the floor behind her. With a grateful smile, she tucked her skirts behind her knees and then lowered herself onto it. Now facing her daughter at eye level, she answered Anna's question with one of her own.

"What do you think of Josef, Anna?"

The princess narrowed her eyes slightly, apparently trying to determine whether this was some sort of trick question. She glanced up at the tall man beside her, then back at her mother. At last, she answered slowly, "He's... nice. He can be funny, sometimes. He's really good with the horses, of course; I've learned all sorts of things from him about that. He seems... seemed... very friendly. It was really nice having someone new I could talk to and all, and..."

"Do you think he's handsome?"

"Mother!" Anna's cheeks burned scarlet. Yet despite herself, she couldn't help but glance up at Josef's face again. When she did, her blush grew redder still.

"And that," Ellinor explained as she gently poked her daughter's cheek, "is what your father and Josef talked about." Then she shook her head. "But I suppose I should have known better than to trust such matters to him. A foolish mistake on my part, I think."

She looked up at the equally embarrassed object of Anna's affections. "Agdar is a very smart man who is skilled at a great many things. Unfortunately, dealing with emotions – his or anyone else's – does not appear to be anywhere on that list. He means well, but..." She struggled to find the right words that would succinctly describe her husband's particular shortcoming. Ultimately failing, however, she resigned herself to a shrug and a smile. "He means well. Anyway, let's see if we can't put matters right, shall we?"

She turned back to Anna, who was trying to hide her face by staring at the ground. Clearly, she would have liked to be just about anyplace else at that moment. Ellinor tucked a knuckle under the princess's chin and lifted it until they were roughly face to face, even if Anna still averted her eyes.

"There's nothing for you to be ashamed of, dear. This happens to nearly everyone at some point. It's part of growing up. As a matter of fact, I think I was just about your age when I first noticed this one young lad on a trip into the village near our farm. The minute I laid eyes on him, I thought he surely had to be the most beautiful person in the world. I wanted so badly to go up and talk to him, except that I was too shy. Still, I kept watching him the entire time mother was doing her shopping.

"Then we went home. But I hardly slept that night. I couldn't stop thinking about him. I wondered what his name was and where he was from. For the next several days, I kept imagining that I really had gone up to him, and I thought of all the really clever and charming things I should have said. I rehearsed that first meeting over and over again in my head. I wanted to be absolutely certain that I was ready the next time I saw him."

By this point, Anna was actually looking at her again. "What happened?"

"Two weeks passed before we went back to town. When we did, I kept looking for him everywhere. In fact, I was so distracted that I lost track of how many times Mother scolded me for either falling behind or beginning to wander off. Try as I might, though, I couldn't see him anywhere. I never did explain to my mother why I was in such a bad mood that night."

"But you saw him the next time, right? Or was it the time after that?"

Ellinor shook her head. "Actually, I never saw him again. I never even found out his name. I suppose he must have just been passing through that one day. Still, it was months before I finally stopped thinking about him.

"So I'm actually rather proud of you, Anna, because you weren't afraid to go up and talk to Josef. That's just the kind of person you are, and it's a very admirable quality. Your father and I were just a little concerned because Josef is so much older than you."

"Only eight years!" Anna protested. "When I'm twenty, he'll be..."

"You aren't twenty, dear, as much as you might like to be. You're ten, and you still have a lot of growing up left to do. And when you do get to be twenty, it's very likely you'll find that you're a rather different person than the one you are today."

This earned Ellinor a look of flagrant disbelief. "Oh, you'll still be Anna, of course. But everything changes and people are no exception. I'm certainly not the same person I was ten years ago. After all, you were still a baby then, and Elsa was barely three years old. Raising the two of you changed me so very much; I'd like to think for the better. I learned a great deal along the way. If I had to face all the same choices today, I'm sure I would do many things differently.

"And in another ten years, I'll be different again. We all will. It's more than just growing up, Anna. It's living. Things we're passionate about today, we may find dull and uninteresting tomorrow. Some friendships will last, but others will drift apart and new ones will take their place. We make mistakes and we learn from them. That way the next time, we can make different mistakes instead." That at least brought back a portion of her daughter's earlier smile.

"I suppose this all seems rather irrelevant to the original point I was trying to make, but I don't think it is. You see, there are some things that we all outgrow with time. Take your dolls, for instance. How often do you ever really play with them anymore? I know they still mean a great deal to you, but you have other interests now. Actually playing with dolls probably seems a little childish, doesn't it?" After a moment's thought, Anna had to nod her agreement.

"Well, that's the big difference between ten and eighteen, Anna. Change never stops, but it happens so much faster when we're young. Eventually, we all sort of catch up to one another. It's just that right now, there are so many more things that Josef has had time to outgrow that you still need to experience for yourself.

"You're still learning who you are, because you're still becoming who you will one day be. That's fine, that's the way it ought to be."

Ellinor gave her daughter an encouraging smile. "Some things will never change, though. I have no doubt that you will always be a kind and courageous person. Your father and I will always love you. We will always worry about you, but we'll always be proud of you too. And we'll always be there to help you, no matter what. Do you understand?" Anna quietly nodded and finally returned her mother's smile in full. "Good."

At last, the queen glanced back up at the stablehand, who had remained standing there this entire time despite feeling ever more awkward and self-conscious at listening in on this very personal conversation between mother and daughter. "As for you, Josef. Do you have any problem with Anna stopping by to talk with you when she comes down to visit the stables? Just as friends, that is."

"Of course not, Your Majesty. Not at all."

"Wonderful. And if Agdar ever tries to give you any trouble about that, do please see that I'm informed. There are a few things that I can do to... address such an issue."

"Er, yes, Your Majesty."

"Relax, Mr. Mikkelsen. Consider this your royal pardon, even if you didn't actually do anything that should have required pardoning in the first place. Now," she said as she slapped her knees and stood, "I do believe we came here to see a man about a couple of horses!"

• • •

When they finally left the stables, Anna's mood was much closer to what it had been earlier, although she was now somewhat quieter than before. Her mother's talk had given her a lot to think about, and though her stomach had by this point made significant progress on her lunch, she felt like she still had a lot to digest.

Her thoughts were momentarily interrupted, however, by the queen's voice.

"Well now, I seem to recall that you said we could go wherever I wanted to on our little stroll. There is one other place that I would still like to visit this afternoon. That is, if you feel up to it." When Anna nodded, Ellinor began to walk again, and the princess quickly fell into step beside her.

In no time at all, they reached the front corner of the courtyard and the base of one of the many round towers that stood watch at intervals around the castle walls. Stepping inside, they climbed the spiral staircase to the first landing, then passed out through an archway onto the covered walkway that ran just within the rim of the rampart.

They spoke little as they made their way around the outer edge of the castle. In addition to everything that she had on her mind, Anna was also absorbed with trying to look out through the narrow gap between the top of the wall and the peaked roof overhead. She was still a little too short to see out easily, but if she walked on tiptoe, she could catch glimpses of the docks and the town beyond. That lasted until they passed through yet another turret at the corner of the grounds and turned right to continue following the wall.

Now the view shifted to the entrance of the harbor. There, the shield wall that mostly encircled the town came right down to the water, even extending across rocky promontories that pinched off a narrow gap through which ships were able to enter and exit the sheltered cove. Even without stretching, Anna was able to see the three tall masts of a vessel beginning its departure from Arendelle. Its sails were billowing somewhat erratically in the chaotic gusts that tended to swirl around the harbor at this time of year.

She briefly lost sight of the sailing ship as they passed through a square tower midway along the wall, but afterward continued to track its slow seaward progress until they reached the next corner. Turning right, she continued to peer out, wishing that she could see more than this narrow strip. She wondered whether the vessel would have left the harbor by the time they made it to the main tower at the next corner.

"Anna." The princess stopped at the sound of her name, which surprisingly had not come from right beside her. She looked back and saw her mother still standing in the doorway of the turret they had just passed through, an amused smile playing about her lips. Anna stretched to take one last look out at the fjord, hoping to see the brilliant white squares of sailcloth again, before she reluctantly retraced her steps.

"We're here," the queen announced.

Anna looked around at the bare stone walls. "Here? Um, okay. Well, it's certainly… quiet, I guess." As destinations went, she couldn't see anything particularly special about it. Actually, if she were to be truthful, it seemed to her to be positively dull. She rocked back and forth a little, hoping that if she adjusted her position just right, she could maybe catch another glimpse of the ship through the single small window.

"Notice anything different?"

"Different?" The princess turned a quizzical expression upon her mother, then took another harder look at the exceedingly austere surroundings. Anna had passed through here many times over the years, but passing through was mostly all she'd ever done. There simply wasn't much here of any interest, and even less that could possibly have changed.

There were the two open archways that led out onto the ramparts. There was the tiny window that looked out across the fjord (and which provided an even less satisfying view than she could get by standing upon the walls). And then there was the one closed door that was always barred by a thick steel bolt, which was in turn held in place by a heavy padlock.

Anna stopped, squinted, then took a step forward. Was there something different about the lock? It looked the same, except that there was one particularly shiny bit that she didn't think she remembered being there before. She took another step and then finally realized what she was seeing.

She looked up at her mother, whose smile had stopped playing and had now settled into a most serious grin. Ellinor tipped her head encouragingly towards the door, and Anna quickly finished closing the distance. She lifted the little hunk of iron, grasped the flared end of the glinting metal rod, and turned.

The lock popped open with a decisive clack.

After another backward glance at her mother, Anna twisted the lock free and slid the bolt back out of its catch. Then she grasped the handle and pulled.

The door swung open to reveal a length of stone walkway that almost looked like an extension of the castle walls. A short distance away, it seemed to abruptly disappear, though the princess knew perfectly well that it descended at that point down a narrow flight of steps. At that bottom of those stairs was a second lower path which led across to…

"The lighthouse?"

The queen nodded. "This was the real reason I hoped you would join me today. I remembered you saying once before how hard it was for you and Marie to see the docks clearly from inside the castle. Well, I've been assured that you get a marvelous view of the entire cove, docks and all, when you stand at the railing outside the lantern room. Plus, you can also look out over the fjord. You can watch the boats all the way in and out of port, and there's no closer place to see the ships as they enter and leave harbor."

"You mean I can…? That is, Marie and I can…?" Again, Ellinor nodded. "So I can get the key from you whenever I want?"

Ellinor laughed. "Not quite." She reached out and lifted the padlock from her daughter's hand. Turning the key, she pulled it free from the mechanism. Then she held it out to Anna.

"This is yours, sweetheart."

Anna did not take it right away. Instead, she stared at the tiny bit of metal in utter disbelief. She turned to look out the open door, at the walkway, at the lighthouse beyond.

Then she grabbed the key, clenching it tightly in her fist, and threw her arms around her mother's waist.

"Now you have to promise me you'll be careful," Ellinor said as she returned the embrace. "This is a responsibility and a privilege. The lighthouses are incredibly important. The safety of every vessel and every person aboard can depend upon them. That's why this door is kept locked. I'm giving you this key because I believe that you're old enough now that I can trust you to be on your very best behavior out there. Please don't prove me wrong."

"I won't, Mother! I promise." Then Anna spun around and darted out across the top of the stone wall, laughing as she ran.

She was out of the castle! Granted, this was something of a technicality, since the wall and the lighthouse were both still attached to it. But she could come here whenever she liked. She didn't have to wait until Midsummer's Eve to escape the high walls. Now she could at least get a clearer look at the world outside and at some of the people who lived in it.

Reaching the base of the lighthouse, she sped through the door and up the winding stairs. She only slowed down when she saw the golden glow of sunlight filtering through the hatchway in the ceiling above her head. When she stepped into the lantern room, she actually gasped. Only then did she realize exactly why her mother had stressed the need for extraordinary care.

Glass surrounded her on every side. In the center of the space was the giant lantern. It wasn't lit at the moment, since even its powerful beam would be lost beneath the bright midday sun. The eight walls, if you could call them that, were actually floor to ceiling windows formed from large diamond-shaped panes. The view from where she stood was already breathtaking, though she couldn't imagine spending much time in here. Not only was it incredibly cramped, but the glass trapped every dram of heat from the late summer sun, turning the small space into a miniature greenhouse.

Then she saw something that made her forget all about the stifling warmth. Making her way as quickly as she dared through the narrow, glass-walled space, she finally found the door and slipped outside. The unobstructed view made her heart feel like it might just leap right out of her chest.

The three-masted barque that she had been watching earlier was just passing through the gap between the twin lighthouse towers. The distance it had placed between itself and the encircling mountains, small though it might have been, was seemingly enough for the churning winds to have made up their minds at last. They had now joined together to become a strong tailwind that filled the sails until they were straining against the spars.

As Anna looked on, she found her eyes inexorably drawn to the distinctive sea-foam flower markings that decorated the ship's stern. At once, she knew the name of the vessel that was passing so close before her eyes. Laughing yet again, she lifted her arm over her head and waved energetically at the crew busily working on deck. One or two looked up, the unexpected motion catching their eyes, and waved back briefly.

"It's the _Voloe_, Mother!" Anna exclaimed. The queen, who had finally caught up to her daughter, now stood beside her at the railing. "This is so amazing! And look, you really can see the entire harbor. Oh, I can't wait to bring Marie up here. She'll absolutely love this! Thank you! Thank you so much."

She leaned contentedly against her mother's side as they both watched the ship pass out of the harbor and begin to tack towards the open sea. "And thank you for earlier with Josef, too," Anna added. "I don't think I'll ever be able to be as perfect a mother as you, but I'll try my best. You know, one day. When I grow up. And have kids. Probably not before then."

Ellinor chuckled. "Thank you, sweetheart. That might be the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me." She bent down and planted a kiss atop Anna's head.

"Just try not to grow up too quickly, please."

"No promises," Anna replied, sticking out her chin in mock defiance. "After all, everything changes, right?"

"Almost everything." Ellinor gave her daughter a one-armed hug.

Anna wouldn't leave until the _Voloe_ finally disappeared behind the rocky walls of the mountains. The queen, for her part, welcomed their passage back through the heat of the lantern room. The wind had continued to pick up during their entire vigil, and it seemed to bring with it the colder air of the mountains from which it had been born.

_Even the seasons are changing_, she thought to herself as they made their way back to the palace. _Summer is fading, and soon comes the fall._


	17. With the Passing of the Day

Everything changes. Some things, however, change so little or so slowly that they seem like constants in this world.

The highland vales and coastal waters of Arendelle had provided life and livelihood for untold generations, back into the murky mists of history long before the founding of the kingdom. The mountains themselves had stood for eons before the first settlers had found their way into the fjords, and they would likely outlive the memories of man in the ages to come. The sun, moon, and stars endlessly crossed the sky in patterns yet older still.

And Princess Anna of Arendelle would never be known for her quiet patience.

_Knock knock-knock-knock knock._

"Psst. Elsa, are you awake?"

Anna didn't wait for an answer, knowing full well that none would come. But she also didn't slide down into her usual position, sitting on the floor with her back against the door. She'd already spent too much time that morning trying to lie still in bed, willing herself to fall back asleep. That had proven to be an exercise in futility. Complete wakefulness had pounced upon her hours before dawn, and she'd eventually been forced to accept the fact that she wouldn't be finding her way back to sleep anytime soon.

In the end, she had dressed in the dark and then slipped out of her room, hoping to burn off some of her excess energy with a walk through the palace's deserted hallways. That hadn't worked either, but it had at least managed to shed a little light on exactly what it was she was really looking for. So she now found herself here, outside her sister's room, hoping she might find someone with whom she could share her sleeplessness.

"Sorry to bother you this late, or this early, or whatever it is. I just can't sleep. I'm too excited! I think this might be the day! I know it's hard to predict these things, but based on when Marie's letter said their ship would be leaving Le Havre, Father and Kai think it could arrive sometime today. It might be tomorrow instead, or maybe even later if the winds haven't been cooperating, but something just tells me that it'll be today. Oh, I really hope it is! It will be so wonderful to see her again.

"I keep wondering how much she'll have changed. After all, it's been two and a half years since she left. I'm sure I've changed too since then, but I don't really know how much, because I see myself in the mirror every day, and it's a lot harder to notice all those little changes than it is to notice all of them all at once, you know? She'll be taller of course, but then so am I, so will I really notice how much taller she is if we're both taller?

"On the other hand, two and half years isn't so long, right? She can't have changed that much. It's not going to be like I won't recognize her or anything. She'll still look like Marie, just like I still look like me and you still look like you and..."

And then Anna remembered that it had also been more than two years since she'd last seen her sister's face, except for occasional fleeting glimpses high up in her window. She took a few steps away from the door, then turned and came straight back.

"I thought I'd ask her to come up here again. You know, with her violin? She'll have learned lots of new music since she left, and I'm sure you'd like to hear some of it every bit as much as I want to. You won't have to say anything, of course," she hurried to clarify. "I mean, just because you did the last time she played for us, that doesn't mean I expect you to talk this time or anything. That is, unless you want to. Because if there's something you want to say, then I wouldn't want you to not say it. I just think people always ought to say what's on their mind. Well, okay, maybe not always. Take me for instance. I really should probably learn to think a little more and say a little less. Like right now, maybe."

Anna actually appeared to heed her own advice... for perhaps five seconds.

"Of course, it's a lot easier to stop talking when there's somebody else who'll start instead. After all, I just really hate those awkward silences, don't you? Not that all silences are awkward. I mean, your silences aren't! Always. Awkward. They're just, um, just you, you know?

"Wow, talk about awkward..." she mumbled quietly to herself.

"Anyway, it's going to be great to have Marie back again, even if only for a little while. Exchanging letters has been nice and all, but it's really not the same. You just never know what the other person is thinking or feeling or whether they'll understand you. Then by the time they write back, you've half forgotten what it was you wrote to them in the first place. It's just so much better to be able to talk face-to-face. Or face-to-door, that works too."

Anna winced as she felt the awkwardness double. This was not going at all the way she'd intended, although she probably should not have been surprised.

"I'm sorry, Elsa," she said as she turned around and leaned her back against the door. "I don't know why I said that. I didn't mean to; it just sort of slipped out. Well, you know how I get when I'm too excited. I guess between the two of us, maybe we average out just about right. I could probably use a bit of your restraint and common sense from time to time, and I think you could sometimes be a little more…"

_More what? _Anna thought. _ More like me?_ She tried to imagine Elsa rambling on about anything without first carefully thinking through what she was about to say. But that just wouldn't be her sister, the one who used to have entire conversations with their mother in rhyming couplets! Elsa had always thought things through – except whenever Anna had dragged her into something without giving her any time to think.

Between Anna's impulsive recklessness and Elsa's thoughtful deliberation, between her own outgoing nature and her sister's reserved shyness, between effusive chatter and retiring silence, it was sometimes difficult to believe that the two of them could be related at all, much less be sisters.

Not for the first time, Anna found herself wishing that her sister _could_ be a little more like her. Would that really be so bad? She'd spent the last five years trying to understand Elsa, what she could possibly have been thinking or feeling that had led her to shut herself off from the world like this. She'd found, however, that it was simply beyond her grasp. The idea was just so alien to her own personality that she often wondered whether she would understand it even if her parents suddenly decided to explain everything to her.

If only they were a little more alike, then maybe she could understand. Maybe she could help. That's all she really wanted to do, after all.

"I should go," she said at last. "It was rude of me to wake you. That is, if I did. And if I didn't… well then, I hope you're having wonderful dreams. We'll… I'll talk again later." She pushed herself away from the door and summoned a smile back onto her face. "Hopefully when I do, I'll be able to tell you all about Marie's arrival!"

She reached out and touched the door. "I love you, Elsa." Then, with a silent sigh, she turned and hurried off back toward her own room.

If anyone else had been standing in that empty stretch of corridor a few seconds later, they might have heard the softest of thumps, as of a forehead meeting wood. And if they had then come closer to the door to investigate, and if they'd been gifted with particularly keen hearing, then they just might have heard the softest of voices whisper from the other side.

"Love you too..."

• • •

Anna paced backed and forth across the courtyard. The morning had come and gone, along with much of the afternoon, but Marie still had not arrived.

It had frankly been a minor miracle that she'd been able to remain in her seat at all during Prof. Englestad's teachings that morning. Ultimately, he'd ended up bowing to the inevitable and had dismissed her early, after fighting once too often to drag her attention back to the topic at hand and away from the daydreams that had kept drawing her eyes out of the window.

After the premature ending to her lessons, Anna had raced straight to the lighthouse to stand watch, hoping to spy an incoming vessel flying the blue, white, and red colors of the French flag upon its mainmast. She'd had some vague notion of spotting Marie up on deck as the boat passed into the harbor and surprising her by waving hello from their new lookout.

Long before even the first hour had gone by, however, she'd found herself tracing endless circles on the narrow path between the clear walls and the metal railing. She simply did not have it in her on this day to either sit or stand still. Then, remembering her mother's admonitions about taking care around the lighthouse, she had decided that her impatience had no business being so close to all that glass.

So she had descended back to the castle proper. She'd briefly considered simply moving her vigil to the top of the main tower instead, but she knew that would almost certainly result in her just falling straight back into another somewhat larger orbit round and around its circular walkway. So she'd clamored down the steps of one of the towers and made her way back to the courtyard.

And now, she'd ended up circling it instead, or crisscrossing it, or wandering aimlessly through it. She left it up to her feet to choose the path, because her mind was busy elsewhere, remembering and imagining. As she went, she would sometimes stare up into the sky, sometimes down at her feet.

Then suddenly, as she spun around at one end of her march, she found herself staring very closely at a pattern of bronze and blue rosemaling set upon a narrow field of burgundy red.

Her father's hands caught her by the shoulders and steadied her as she rebounded off his chest. "Whoa, easy there! I didn't think I was sneaking up on you, sweetheart, but I guess you're a bit distracted today, hmm?"

"Oh! Sorry, Papa. Yeah, I guess I am."

"I was getting tired just watching you," he said with a smile. "Am I going to have to keep up the same pace in order to talk with you, or will you take pity on an old man?"

"You're not old!" Anna protested. "But I suppose I could maybe sit down. For a little while."

"The gardens, then?"

The princess glanced toward the castle gates, still as stubbornly closed as they ever were, before nodding her agreement.

The two walked around to the far side of the castle and sat down upon a convenient bench. Anna's legs swung restlessly back and forth, but what Agdar's paternal eye noticed most was how much closer her toes came to the ground than they once had. How many more years, he wondered, before her feet would remain firmly planted on the ground? He knew that, when that day came, it would feel to him like something precious had been lost.

All the more reason then to enjoy every single today before they each became a yesterday.

"You do know that I've told all the men on the towers and walking the walls today to keep an eye out for a ship flying the French flag, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And that I've told them to alert me or your mother as soon as one has been spotted?"

Anna nodded.

The king smiled. "But you still want to be the first one to know, don't you?"

"No. Well, not exactly. Not the first one to know, really. It's just...

"I want to be the first person Marie sees when she arrives. I don't want to keep her waiting. I want to be at the pier when her ship docks. I want to be standing at the bottom of the gangway from the moment she sets foot on it until the instant she steps off. I don't want anyone to have to waste any time coming to look for me, so I guess I've just been trying to stay as close to the news as possible."

"Ah, I see." Agdar gave this some thought. "Well in that case, it seems to me like the best strategy would be for you to spend the rest of the afternoon together with your mother and me. That way, as soon as we hear anything, there won't be any need for anyone to look for anybody, and the three of us will be able to head down to the docks immediately."

Anna looked up at him "You're not busy? I mean, I don't want to keep you from..." Her father shook his head.

"No one is clamoring for an audience this afternoon, and there's only a little bit of paperwork to be done. Kai might be slightly annoyed tomorrow morning to find that I haven't finished it, but under the circumstances, I think he'll understand. Besides, I am the king, after all. I do have a little bit of say in how the kingdom is run."

The princess smiled. "Thanks. I think I'd like that."

"Excellent! It's settled then. Now all that's left to decide is what we should do while we wait. Do you want to go inside, or would you prefer to stay out here? Either way, it should only take a few minutes to find your mother and to let Kai know where he can find us, since there's a good chance any news will make its way through him. I don't particularly care either way, but I'm warning you now: don't expect me to keep pace with you if you go back to trying to count each and every single stone in the courtyard again."

"Three hundred and fifty-five thousand, two hundred and eighty-four."

Agdar did a double take.

"Approximately, of course. I mean, what with all the partial bricks around the fountains and along the edges of the inlaid patterns, it's really difficult to get an exact count."

"Please tell me you're joking."

Anna returned his shocked look with one of perfect seriousness. She managed to hold it just long enough for her father's jaw to drop open, then she burst into laughter.

"Of course I am, Father. Okay, sure, there've been days when I was almost bored enough to try. But no, I haven't actually counted every single stone."

The king's shoulders slumped with relief. "I do believe you've inherited your mother's peculiar sense of humor," he replied archly.

"That's what Gerda says too." Anna grinned. Her eyes projected innocence, but her mouth was all mischief. Agdar could do little but shake his head.

"Anyway, you never answered my question. Would you rather wait in the gardens or in the castle?"

"Well," Anna began, her expression turning a little sheepish, "I actually haven't had anything to eat since breakfast, so..."

"Right, inside it is then. There's probably a decent chance we'll find your mother down in the kitchen anyway." He got to his feet, then swept out a bow. "Your Highness, would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to a late lunch?"

Anna dropped down off the bench and, when her father offered her his elbow, slipped her hand inside the crook of his arm. Together, they began to walk toward the nearest door that opened out into the gardens.

As they stepped out of the sun, the king glanced down at his daughter again with a hint of suspicion in his eyes. "You were telling me the truth when you said you hadn't counted all the stones, weren't you?"

Anna rolled her eyes. "Yes, Father."

"Good."

After all, she'd lost count about halfway across.

• • •

The royal family was just sitting down to the day's third and final meal, Anna having resigned herself to the fact that her reunion would have to wait for another day, when the word came at last.

It began with the sound of guards calling out, one after another. Their cries, muffled by distance and the walls of the palace, were unintelligible. Yet the call was clearly being repeated, growing louder and clearer as the message was relayed from the tower heights, across the walls, and ultimately to the very doors of the palace itself.

"Your Majesties, Princess Anna." An out of breath Kai jogged into the dining room. Sucking in a deep lungful of air, he proclaimed in a single rush, "A vessel flying the French colors has just been spotted upon the fjord."

Anna had bounded to her feet before the steward had even finished saying her name.

"Marie! They made it! Come on, come on!" She was already out the door, all thought of food completely abandoned. She hadn't been that hungry anyway.

Sensibly choosing not to repeat his Midsummer's Eve jest, Agdar did not torture his impatient daughter by intentionally dragging his heels this time. He and Ellinor both hurried out of the room behind her at a respectable pace, even though it still was clearly not fast enough for Anna. Everything about her body language screamed that she wanted nothing more than to sprint the entire way to the docks with heedless abandon, and woe be unto any unfortunate person (or door) that might happen to be in her way.

When the princess burst out into the courtyard, she found herself greeted by a sky on fire with the brilliant orange hues of the setting sun. The clouds overhead caught the color and cast it back down to the earth, so that what might otherwise have been a mere glow above the mountains instead turned the western sky into an oil painting rendered in a hundred shades of vermilion, red ocher, and tangerine. Reflected light seemed to have replaced the palace windows with sheets of polished copper. The sun itself was half hidden behind the towering peaks, so that they cast long shadows eastward like streaks of night running over the canvas of the world. It was a breathtakingly beautiful sight.

Anna barely even noticed.

"Hurry up!" she shouted over her shoulder. "Please, I don't want to be late. Not today, not for this!"

"We're coming, sweetheart, we're coming," her mother called after her, picking up both her skirts and her pace.

The gate wardens had received the same briefing that morning as all the rest of the castle guards, and they had not been deaf to the cries that heralded the approach of the much anticipated ship. Both the inner and outer gates were open before Anna reached them, and if she didn't quite run through the opening, then it was certainly as fast as one could possibly go before any reasonable person would consider it as such. The king and queen hurried to keep up.

At last, the princess could see the harbor waters and the solitary ship that was in motion upon them. It was only just heaving fully into view, the very tip of its trailing ensign staff sliding out from behind the obstruction of the castle walls.

Anna could see figures moving across the deck, though she couldn't make out much at this distance. Most of them would undoubtedly be sailors simply going about the last minute preparations required of a ship entering port, but that didn't matter. She still began to wave her hand high in the air, performing a strange sort of sideways skip as she jumped up and down in the hope of attracting the attention of any familiar faces that might be watching out for her.

All restraint left her at that point. By the time she reached the end of the bridge, she was moving as fast as her feet would carry her. It had become a crazy sort of race between the girl on the quay and the ship on the water. The sound of her laughter and approaching footfalls turned more than a few heads among those townsfolk who were still out and about. She was so uncontrollably excited that she almost failed to realize when the boat was no longer tracking alongside her.

Skidding and stumbling to a halt, she hurriedly retraced her steps back two piers, to where the vessel was slowly easing its way into the broad berth. She made a move to hurry down along the wooden planks, but a firm hand on her shoulder restrained her. Turning, she saw her father looking down at her as her mother came up to stand on her other side.

"Slow down, Anna," he said, admirably not out of breath. "We made it with time to spare. Now just wait a minute until they've finish docking. After they've tied off the mooring lines, then we'll all go together. They won't lower the gangway until that's done, so there's no need to get in their way before then."

Anna grinned with eager expectation, but her barely contained excitement only made this slight delay seem to stretch on interminably. While she waited, she scanned the gunwale from stem to stern, hoping to spot another pair of eyes looking straight back at her. Even though she found none, this still did not put the slightest dent in her euphoric mood. Marie was on that boat somewhere, and they'd soon be together again!

Eventually, the last of the dock ropes was securely in place. Only the continued presence of her father's hand upon her shoulder kept her from galloping down the pier. Instead, the three of them walked as a group until they stood across from the opening in the bulwark through which the sailors were beginning to heave the gangplank. Anna could barely contain herself as the end of the heavy wooden ramp thudded into place.

The first few passengers who she'd earlier seen waiting on deck quickly filed off the boat, passing them with respectful bows and a series of Your Majesties. Craning her neck, Anna tried with little success to see through the gap at the top of the gangway, anxious for a first glimpse of her friend. It was the queen, however, who bent down and, with an outstretched arm, directed her attention toward the aft cabin.

"Look, dear. It's Jacqueline."

Sure enough, Anna turned her head and caught sight of Marie's mother. She was facing half away from them at that moment, so they could see her only in profile. There was no doubt as to her identity, however, particularly when she at last turned and, glancing over the gunwale, spotted the royal family.

Smiling, she returned the princess's cheerful wave, only to then look back over her shoulder. With a gesture indicating that they should wait a moment, she turned away again and crossed to the other side of the deck, the bulk of the ship temporarily hiding her from view.

Anna struggled not to dance on the spot with impatience. Truthfully, she felt like running straight up the gangplank in order to hasten the reunion, and if it hadn't been for her parents' steadying presence behind her, she might well have done just that.

The next minute or two felt like hours. Then another familiar face came into view. Anna watched as Marie's father slowly approached the ramp. His height meant that she saw him first, but he almost vanished from her awareness a second or two later when his daughter appeared before him.

The pair paused briefly at the top of the gangway. Marie looked down at Anna, and her face broke into the broadest of grins. The princess looked back, finding herself uncharacteristically speechless. With a dumbfounded expression on her face, she watched her friend begin descending to the pier, Anton immediately behind her all the way.

Suddenly, the moment Anna had been anticipating for weeks was upon her. Marie and her family were right there in front of her, back in Arendelle for the first time in years. Memories came flooding back like a storm-driven sea:

Sitting in the hallway outside Elsa's door, listening enraptured to the melody rising from the violin strings.

Crossing wooden swords in the courtyard, the fantasies she'd long played at incredibly becoming just a little bit real.

Standing on the deck of the _Voloe_, talking so much in her excitement that her companion was barely able to get out a word of her own.

Perching on the parapet of the tallest watchtower, dreamily imagining herself transported to all the other harbor towns that her friend happily described for her.

Peeking out from behind a garden hedge, unable to stifle a giggle as a flash of yellow ran past her hiding place.

"It's so wonderful to see you again!"

The sound of Marie's voice yanked her powerfully back to the present. In the fading light at the end of the day, she looked at her friend as if seeing her for the very first time, and she felt tears beginning to well up in the corners of her eyes.

"Anna? Anna, it's your turn now. Say something."

What should have been a brief pause stretched out longer and longer.

"Please?"

And so she said the first thing that popped into her head, knowing even as she gave voice to the thought just how incredibly foolish it was.

"You… you cut your hair."

This was perfectly true. Marie's ponytail was gone, and her shortened hair now came down to just above her shoulders. However, neither the words themselves nor the truth they declared mattered much at all, for they had been so distorted with emotion.

The tears were running freely down Anna's cheeks now. She found herself once again wanting to run, except that she couldn't decide in which direction. Instead, she managed to take a single tentative step forward, and then stopped. Her hands twisted themselves into the folds of her skirt, because she didn't know what else to do with them. She felt as if her head was spinning, or else the entire world around her was.

"Anna?" She wasn't entirely sure whose voice spoke her name, but it was laced with concern. She blinked rapidly, trying to free her vision so that she could see Marie clearly once again. Her throat seemed to constrict, making it difficult to breathe and even harder to speak. She was unsure how much time passed before she was at last able to squeak out five more words.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Marie looked back at her out of sorrowful eyes. Anna felt a hand – she thought it was her mother's – once again come to rest upon her shoulder, but it was an oddly disconnected sensation. She felt like her body suddenly belonged to someone else, and that she herself now existed in the space between her and Marie. She wanted to dart forward and wrap her arms around her friend, to hold her so tightly that nothing would ever be able to come between them again. It seemed like exactly the right thing to do.

Except that she didn't seem to know how to do it. Her limbs had apparently forgotten how to perform such a simple task. Or rather, they had never learned, had never had a reason to learn. She felt like a fool for not knowing where to put her arms or where to plant her feet, and that simply made her cry all the harder. What was she to do? She had no idea what she was supposed to do!

"Why didn't you tell me?" she repeated, barely above a whisper.

She had no idea how to hug someone in a wheelchair.


End file.
